


Keep Your Enemies Closer

by clio_jlh



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Clubbing, Drugs, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Gay Male Character, Humor, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Male Friendship, Musicians, Mystery, RPF, Recreational Drug Use, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-13
Updated: 2009-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Keep Your Enemies Closer</em> is a mystery AU set in the New York club scene of the mid-90s, when a rapidly gentrifying East Village contained chain stores and after hours clubs, hungry young artists and heroin dealers.  Simon Cowell, manager of pop star hopefuls and owner of the hot downtown Club Idol, has been framed for a crime he didn't commit.  Can new kid Kris Allen convince rival divas David Cook and Adam Lambert to work together to clear Simon's name?  And what will happen when Simon asks Adam and Kris to "take care" of his boyfriend Ryan for him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unpleasantness at Club Idol

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://ali-wildgoose.livejournal.com/profile)[**ali_wildgoose**](http://ali-wildgoose.livejournal.com/), who as usual went well beyond the call of beta-duty on this one, [](http://dreamerren.livejournal.com/profile)[**dreamerren**](http://dreamerren.livejournal.com/), who encouraged me to keep going when I'd hit an impasse, and [](http://honestys-easy.livejournal.com/profile)[**honestys_easy**](http://honestys-easy.livejournal.com/), who helped me give it that final polish. All the chapter titles for this story are from Dorothy L. Sayers's Lord Peter Wimsey novels, some of my favorite mysteries ever, as well as being one of my favorite romances.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David Cook returns from a year away to find that Adam has usurped his position, that there's a new cute bartender named Kris—and that someone has it in for his mentor Simon.

_21 February 1996_

[Crystal Waters | 100% Pure Love](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/100_Pure_Love/2544233)

The biggest downside of working the door at Club Idol was that you had to stand outside. Which had been fine, back in September, but now it was February and it was snowing _again_ and Adam Lambert was having some serious second thoughts about his decision to move to New York. Even bouncing around to the music leaking out the door—_around to the middle and back again, I'm gonna be there to the end_—wasn't enough to keep him warm. Besides, the platforms slipped in the slush.

Though, if he were still in San Diego, or even LA, he wouldn't be able to wear the coat. And the coat was magnificent: iridescent black, with a collar that perfectly framed his face, big silver buttons, and length enough to reach his shoe-tops. It was even warm, though that was mostly because he'd sewn an lining into the thing after finding it at the costume shop on 4th avenue. With the coat he wore a cobalt blue scarf and gloves—and his top hat, of course.

"Damn," Michael Sarver said, shivering and punching his hands together. "Cold out here."

"Yep," Adam replied.

"Sam Champion said this storm could make it the snowiest winter since the forties."

"Heh, you watch Superman."

"Superman?" Sarver asked.

"They call him Superman," Adam explained, "because he runs out of Channel 7 in a suit, and by the time he reaches the bars in Chelsea he's wearing—well, not a cape _exactly_."

Sarver turned to him, sharply. He was a big guy—had to be, to be a bouncer—and was one of the few at the club who could look Adam something close to in the eye when he was wearing platforms. "Champion's a fag?" he asked.

"Yep, Champion's a fag," Adam said.

"You know that personally?" he asked.

Adam grinned coquettishly, and batted his eyelashes. "Why Sarver, are you jealous?" he asked. "I never knew!"

"No," Sarver said quickly. "Just wonderin', y'know, the source of your information."

"Well, I do know, but not personally," Adam admitted. "I've seen him picking up guys in clubs. But he's not my type, and I doubt I'm his."

"Huh," Sarver said, and stomped his feet.

Adam turned to look down the street and wished, vaguely, that his coworker at the door weren't such an ass. He suspected that in high school Sarver had been the kind of football player who didn't actually befriend any of the freaks or geeks, but wouldn't allow them to be beat up in his presence. It worked well for the club because he could draw out the gay bashers, who'd assume he was one of their own, and then show them the door. But that didn't mean Sarver was a PFLAG member; he'd just learned to shut up because oh yeah, a great big fag was signing his paycheck every week.

The snow was definitely keeping the crowds away tonight. It was early, to be sure—only eleven-thirty—but usually by now there were some folks clustered outside that Adam wasn't going to let in, and more people on the dance floor than were there at the moment. A few people were approaching, two men and a woman dressed like rockers rather than club kids, so they didn't look particularly promising until they were almost at the door.

"Well, look who became queen bee while I was gone," said the first man, grinning.

"I don't think I can let you in," Adam said. "I mean, you haven't shaved. But then, you always liked having a beard," and nodded at the woman, a shapely brunette with creamy skin.

"Get her!" the man replied. "She's even grown claws." He stepped forward, managing to get in Adam's face even though he was a bit shorter. "Don't sharpen them on me, sweetie, unless you're ready for a fight."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, old man."

The man reached behind him and unhooked the rope. "I know you need to make a stand—appearances and all. I do appreciate that my return puts you in a tough position. But I _don't_ appreciate your Steve Rubell act."

"Aww, c'mon, Dave," said the man behind him in a broad Australian accent. "He's a lot better looking than Steve Rubell."

Dave grinned. "True," he said, looking Adam up and down. "How about this—you stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours. I'm sure this club is big enough for both of us."

Adam shrugged and stared at his fingernails. "Fine by me," he said, trying to sound as bored as possible.

"Good," Dave said, and walked in with his two friends, re-hooking the velvet rope behind him.

Sarver turned to Adam. "Who was _that_?"

Adam sighed. "David Cook."

Sarver's eyes widened. "I didn't even recognize him. Wasn't he the BMOC around here last year? Simon's favorite?"

"Yeah," Adam said.

"But, he was always a nice guy, I thought," Sarver said.

"We got off on the wrong foot, I guess," Adam said. "And you know Simon."

"Yeah," Sarver said. Everyone knew that Simon Cowell, who not only owned the club but also had a small independent record label of his own and managed several artists, loved nothing better than to set his favorites against each other, rivals for his notice and attention. And he _adored_ catty girls and pretty boys. "So now he's back and—oh, I see." He patted Adam on the shoulder.

Adam grimaced. If even Sarver—who wasn't the sharpest tool in the box—was sorry for him, he was really in for it. "Whatever," he said. "I'm not worried."

* * *

[Yazoo | Goodbye 70's](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Goodbye_70_s/19141551)

The biggest downside of working the bar at the club was that you had to constantly clean. Kris Allen's fingertips were always pruned from being wet so much of the time: wiping down the bar, rinsing cups, shoveling ice. But the tips were good, the people were there to have fun, and his coworkers were a tight little tribe. DJ "B-Shorty"—real name Blake Lewis, and Kris didn't think he was _that_ short—was known for throwing 80s songs into the mix here and there, and since many of the girls in the crowd had moved to New York in the first place to fulfill their _Desperately Seeking Susan_ fantasies it made the club very popular. Kris liked it too, because he'd much rather hear Yaz sing _I'm tired of fighting in your fashion war_ than hear "Finally", the song that wouldn't die, for the 450th time. The 80s songs went along with a door policy that prized the fun-acting over the cool-looking; Cowell felt that cool people didn't actually make for a good party, because they just stood around acting cool and intimidated others. Fun people crowded the dance floor and bought drinks and were silly, which loosened everyone else up.

Besides, working at one of Cowell's clubs got Kris one step closer to actually being managed by the guy. Of course it would help if Cowell could remember who he was. But Kris was relatively new—Matt had only brought him in a month ago, after seeing him busking in Union Square. And he _had_ been noticed by Cowell's lover Ryan Seacrest, which might even be better, Seacrest being the head of MTV News and all. He wasn't sure what to do to catch the eye of Cowell, though, and he didn't want it to be about his looks.

Kris had just served up a couple of cosmos to a man flirtatious enough to fluster Kris a little; he wasn't surprised to find the man had slipped his number under the generous tip. "You're not keeping that?" his fellow bartender Syesha asked when he ditched the card.

"Nah," Kris said. "Not my type. And anyway I kinda like to actually _talk_ to them before I date them."

"That's why you _call_ them," Syesha said. "You sure you're gay?"

Kris shrugged. "My ex-wife is," he replied.

Suddenly Syesha let out a squeal. "Oh my god, David Cook!" she shouted.

A broadly grinning bearded man was walking to the bar, and as he came nearer Kris swore his eyes actually twinkled, like Pa Ingalls, in the low light of the club. "Syesha!" he said, and she hopped up on the bar to give him a hug. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"Great, even better if you say you're not leaving again," she replied.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Here to stay, gotta work on that record."

Syesha's eyes flew open. "You mean?"

"Yep," he said, nodding. "Simon sent me away to write, I sent him what I had, he liked it, I'm going into the studio with Randy in a couple of weeks."

"That's fantastic!" she said, and gave him another hug.

He turned to Kris, smiling. "Gonna introduce me to the new guy?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry! David, this is Kris Allen. Kris, this is David Cook."

As they shook hands, David openly checked Kris out. Kris found the ogling to be the most difficult part to get used to; back home he'd always been with Katy, and the other girls had quickly learned not to stare at him when she was around. And anyway guys stared differently than girls did; he stared like that, too, sometimes.

"Welcome to the Cowell family, Kris Allen," David said, and Kris wondered if he actually _had_ joined the mafia, and was getting a blessing from the favorite son. David cocked his head. "You know, if you took that shirt off, you'd make a lot more tips. From fellas and ladies both."

Kris could feel the blush, and hoped it didn't show. "Well …"

"We keep telling him that," Syesha said, "but he's a stubborn one."

"I dunno," Kris said, "it just seems kinda strange." He shrugged.

David shook his head. "If I had that body? Are you kidding me? I'd be working it like crazy."

The other man with him came up behind him and put his hands on David's hips, and his chin on David's shoulder. "I love your body, Dave," he said. "I like a man with some junk in his trunk."

David made a face. "Thanks a lot, Michael," he replied.

The girl next to him laughed. Kris recognized her as one of the bartenders at the rock club that Cowell also owned—that pretty Irish girl. "At least he's loyal," she said.

Syesha handed Kris a tray. "It's that time, and you should do it so he can start to remember you."

Kris nodded and grabbed a Red Stripe out of the ice, opening it before placing it on the tray. Simon had a standing order for one an hour to be delivered to his office upstairs. Syesha could afford to be generous—Simon liked her a lot, and was already helping her along—but most of the other bartenders Kris shared his shifts with kept the prized task to themselves.

"Here," David said, "I'll go up with you. The old man'll pitch a fit if he finds out I was here and hadn't gone straight up to see him."

The Irish girl—Carly! That was her name, Carly—laughed again. "The _old man_ will pitch a fit if he finds out you called him that."

"Then he doesn't need to know," David said, winking. He beckoned to Kris, who hopped over the bar to follow him to the staircase, feeling like a junior member of a returning prince's entourage.

* * *

[Bjork | Violently Happy](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Violently_Happy/1009971)

The biggest downside of wandering the earth following your tennis-player boyfriend was that eventually you had to come home. Or so David Cook would have said before ten minutes ago. Odd how an over-designed night club felt more like home than anyplace else he could think of, except the stage. Of course things had changed—he'd have to clip the wings of Adam Lambert, who clearly had taken full advantage of his absence to establish himself as the center of everything. He wasn't sure how he'd gone wrong with the kid; sure, he was a little over-the-top for David's taste, and he seemed to be trying a little too hard all the time to be some kind of hard-ass bitch, but when David had tried a little constructive criticism—well, to say that it hadn't been well received was an understatement. But whatever, if the kid couldn't take notes, that wasn't David's problem.

He'd brought Michael Johns with him because that's what committed couples do, bring each other to weird family gatherings, and anyway Simon liked Michael. Carly Hennessey—best friend, fellow rocker, roommate for the past two years—would come along whether David brought her or not, but he was glad to have her as a little extra armor for the whole return of the prodigal thing. They made their way through the crowd, greeting a few people as they went. The open staircase that led to the offices was directly behind the DJ booth, and they waved to Blake as they walked past. He, in return, put David's favorite song into the mix—_come calm me down before I get into trouble_—so they danced their way upstairs, even that hot new bartender Kris.

Chikeze was at the door as always, and pulled David into a bear hug, picking him up off the ground with a hoot. David patted the other man on the shoulder, then waited as Chikeze gave the knock and opened the door.

David walked in behind Kris and saw Simon sitting at his large desk, writing. Behind him was a large window looking out over the dance floor—Simon liked to keep an eye on things without being in the middle of them. Ryan was perched on the arm of the sofa, flipping through the new issue of _Spin_, his feet on Simon's chair. Chris Richardson, the club's manager, was sitting in a chair nearby. They saw David, who put a finger to his lips. "Your midnight Red Stripe, sir."

Simon, typically, didn't even look up. "You can set it down there, and please don't call me sir."

"No?" David asked. "I heard you liked it that way."

"What?" Simon said, finally dragging his eyes away from his papers. "My god, he's come back," he said, standing up and walking around the desk.

"Like a bad penny," David said, smiling.

Simon started to shake David's hand, and then pulled him into a hug. "When did you get in?"

"Late last night," he replied. "Jet lag's got us pretty bad—I'm not exactly sure what time it is—but I'm here, and I'm ready to work."

"Brilliant," Simon said, looking on as Ryan and Chris greeted David. He reached out to shake Michael's hand. "Are you here to stay as well?" he asked.

Michael nodded. "Got a broadcast job. I'll be here in New York all spring, preparing, then out to cover the lead up to the French Open in May."

"Good, good. All settled and stable, so David can focus on his music."

David turned to Simon. "I focused on my music on the road, too," he protested.

"Of course you did," Simon replied.

David sat down with Michael on the couch. "Besides, I'm an old married man. How much stability do you need?"

Simon raised one eyebrow. "Green card marriages to lesbians don't count toward your being settled, Cook." He looked down at Carly, who had slumped into a leather chair, her legs over the side. "Speaking of which, sweetheart, that dress is very short to be sitting like that. Not very married ladylike."

"And?" she asked. "You don't care."

"It's true, I can take it or leave it," Simon said, "but you know vaginas frighten Ryan."

Ryan tsked, then sat on the chair, fitting his small frame around Carly's. "You don't know anything about my attitude toward vaginas, Simon. You weren't there at the time."

"Yes, that one time," Simon replied, lighting another cigarette and leaning back against his desk. "Oh," he said, as if seeing Kris for the first time. "Right, you can give that to me. Kris-with-a-K, isn't it? Matt brought you?"

He nodded. "That's right, sir—I mean, Mr. Cowell."

"Please, it's Simon. Playing guitar in the subway?"

Kris nodded.

"Right, Carly, see if Nick can put him on the schedule over at yours in the next few days, won't you?"

"Sure thing, captain," Carly said, giving him a little salute.

Simon shook his head. "Kris, please don't follow the example you see before you. Disrespect will get you nowhere."

Kris cocked his head. "Didn't you just tell me not to call you sir?"

"He's got you there, Simon," David said.

"Perhaps," Simon said, but he was grinning.

"By the way, Carly and I wanted to bring in a kid to see you," David added. "He has a really great pop feel."

"Do you?" Simon asked. "So does Adam, some girl rock singer. Perhaps we can have a little competition."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Really, Simon."

Simon just laughed. "Wait, Kris, I'll give you the empty," he said, moving back behind his desk. As he reached for the bottle, his phone rang, "Yes?" he said, waving the bottle for Kris to come toward him and grab it. "I see. Thank you, Adam. No, you did the right thing. Stay there, and don't let anyone else in. Right." He hung up, and stared down at the desk. "Chris—Richardson that is—could you please lead Ryan out the back way? Make sure no one sees you. Then go back around to the front and see Adam. I might need you to make some phone calls."

Chris stood up, as did Ryan. "Will do," he said, and Ryan, wide-eyed, grabbed his jacket, gave Simon a quick kiss, and followed Chris out the back door of the office.

"Everyone else, just stay put for now. Kris, will you open the door, please?"

Kris did so, and Chikeze walked in. "Yeah, Simon?" he asked.

"The police are here," Simon said. "Adam just called from the door. They should be walking in any moment. Just let them do as they please."

"Right," Chikeze replied.

The others all sat up in their chairs at that news—David couldn't imagine why the police would be there, as very little illegal activity went on at Club Idol, particularly compared to other clubs in the city. But Simon didn't seem particularly nervous.

A woman in a suit, followed by two uniformed officers, came in the door. "Simon Cowell?" she asked.

"Yes," Simon said, standing behind his desk and smoking.

She flashed some papers. "We have a warrant to search this office," she said, handing it to Simon.

He looked it over. "Right, well, I'm certainly not going to stop you."

"If you could come out from behind the desk, sir," said one of the officers.

"Of course," Simon said, and went to stand near David.

David expected them to tear the place apart, from what he'd seen on television, but the officers went straight to the desk. They looked through the contents on top of the desk and set them aside on one of the chairs. They moved on to the drawers, and then suddenly, they reached in the very back of one of them, and popped open a central drawer David didn't even know was there. He turned to Simon, whose eyes had widened.

"Got it," one of them said, and pulled out the contents of the drawer—a large brown mailing envelope. He upended it onto the now-empty desk, and out came about a hundred small glassine bags with beige powder in them, all stamped with the number "19".

"That—that's not mine," Simon stuttered.

"This is your desk, sir?" asked the detective.

"Yes, but—"

"Simon Phillip Cowell, you are under arrest for possession of heroin with the intent to distribute …"

They started to read him his rights, but David couldn't focus. The voices faded in and out; an officer walked as if in slow motion, turning Simon around and handcuffing him, and Simon was saying something, but David couldn't make out the words. All he could do was stare at the desk, and the pile of drugs on top of it.

"Dave? Dave?" Michael asked, jostling him, and he snapped out of it. Carly was already on the phone, likely to Blake telling him to shut off the music and get everyone out of there.

As Simon was walked out he turned to David and said, "Call the lawyer and you know who else. I'm trusting you."

"Won't let you down, sir," David said.

* * *

It took less than an hour to clear the club, and now some of the staff were sitting in the office along with David Cook and his friends. Chris Richardson had suggested opening the next day as usual, and Ryan had agreed, but after that there didn't seem to be any decisions they could make until the lawyer called. Most of the other bartenders had left, but Kris stayed; since he'd been in the office when Simon was arrested, he felt somehow responsible for helping out. He leaned back against the wall, out of the way, and listened.

Ryan sat cross-legged on top of the desk, as though he didn't want to sit in Simon's chair without him there, and he looked tiny and not a little lost. Kris liked Ryan, who'd gone out of his way to make him feel welcome even though it wasn't even _his_ club—talking to him during the afternoon set-up, taking an interest in how Kris was settling in not only at Club Idol but in New York in general. Kris wasn't sure if it was because they were both small, southern and gay, or because Ryan was actually hitting on him, but he liked to think it was the former.

"What I don't understand," David was saying, "is how Nigel's drugs even got in here."

Ryan looked up at that. "They were Nigel's? You didn't mention that."

"How could they be Nigel's?" Adam asked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," David replied. "I saw the envelopes, and they had '19' stamped on them."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Adam said.

"That's what I was just saying!"

"Guys," Chris said, waving his hands. "This isn't helping."

"Who's Nigel?" Michael asked, and Kris was glad there was someone else there who didn't completely understand what had happened.

"He's an old friend of Simon's, from back in their London days," Blake explained. "And his organization is responsible for trafficking most of the heroin in the tri-state area."

"So why would it be strange for his drugs to be here?" Michael asked. "Other than that they're not Simon's, of course."

"Nigel owes Simon," Chris said. "Something from when they knew each other in London. So when Simon decided he didn't want any drugs in his clubs, Nigel made it happen. No one sells here, and if we catch anyone at it, we tell Simon, he calls Nigel, and it's taken care of—whether they're working for Nigel or not."

"Must be a big something," Michael said. Kris glanced at Ryan, but he didn't look like he was interested in telling that particular story.

There was a pause, and then Adam said, "So who would want to frame Simon?"

"Who are you, Sonny Crockett?" David asked.

"Someone has to be," Adam replied. "The cops don't care, and we're the ones who know what goes on around here."

"You know what goes on?" David shook his head.

"Yeah, I _do_," Adam replied.

David scooted forward on the couch. "How long have you even been here? A year?"

"And you've been out of the country for the last nine months," Adam said, "so I'm not sure why you think you should—"

"Why don't you just work together?" Kris asked.

Everyone turned to look at him, which made him a little nervous—performer or no, he wasn't fond of attracting attention. He hoped he wasn't blushing.

"I mean, since you'll know different things and people and all," he continued, then cleared his throat. "And you said it has to be someone from around here, right? Not like Nigel's people are gonna talk to some ex-cop P.I."

Adam scowled at him. "You really expect me to work with him?"

"Yeah, that's a partnership made in hell," David said.

Kris shifted so he was more square on his feet and pushed off the wall. "If you can help Simon, isn't it worth it?"

Both of them looked ready to answer that, but Ryan held up a hand. "I think it's a great idea, Kris. Don't you, Adam? David?"

They both shrugged, and vaguely nodded, though they wouldn't make eye contact with Ryan.

"Good, that's settled." The desk phone rang then, and Ryan reached behind him to answer. "Yes? Oh! I'll put you on speaker," Ryan said, and hopped off the desk to stand behind it. "Everyone, this is Simon's lawyer, David Hernandez. Go ahead."

"Well, he'll be in at least overnight," Hernandez said, "but I have to warn you, I've spoken to the ADA on this and bail doesn't look good."

Ryan sank down into Simon's chair. "Why not?"

"He's not a US citizen, which makes him a flight risk. But I've spoken to him, and he's fine; he'll probably be calling you later."

"So what's our next step?" Ryan asked.

"I need to find a good P.I. to work out who the hell would want to plant those drugs in his office, and who even could. I've called our litigators—"

"Actually," Ryan interrupted, "we have some people here with knowledge of the scene. Can we all meet tomorrow?"

"Well," Hernandez said, "I don't suppose it can hurt. Let's say 11 am; we can work out where we're headed then."

"Sounds like a plan. Thanks, man."

"Of course. Hang in there."

"Will do," Ryan said, and hung up. "Well," he said to the others, "nothing more we can do tonight."

The party broke up then, though it wasn't really a party, not at all. Adam and David made arrangements with Ryan, then left along with everyone else. But Kris hesitated at the door, watching Ryan idly playing with the lighter Simon had left behind. "Ryan?"

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"You sure you're going to be okay?" he asked.

Ryan smiled. "I'll be fine," he said, pulling himself out of the chair and grabbing his coat. "You go home, get some sleep."

* * *

[The Smashing Pumpkins | Tonight Tonight](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Tonight_Tonight/38366)

Adam waited outside and watched as Cook and his little posse walked down 10th street. Adam didn't have a posse, only Allison, and he'd sent her home as soon as the cops showed up because she was still underage and no one needed _that_ hassle. She was back at the apartment, probably still up and waiting for him to tell her all the news.

Finally Kris and Ryan emerged, and he helped Ryan lock up and get a cab, then walked toward 1st avenue with Kris, who was flipping his keys around in his hand. Adam didn't know Kris that well—the kid was new, and while there had been some early flirtation and an almost-hookup in the back of the club one night, they hadn't spoken much since. The streets had all been plowed, and Sarver had shoveled the front of the club at some point, but most of the sidewalks were still covered in snow, though it had stopped falling an hour or so before.

"You sure you can walk in this weather in those?" Kris asked. With Kris wearing sneakers and Adam still in his platforms he had almost a foot on the guy.

Adam grinned. "They're still boots. Keep my feet dry. I just have to watch for ice."

Kris nodded. "Um, you wanna ride home?" he asked.

"You drove here?" Adam asked, cocking his head.

"Better than taking the L back to Williamsburg at 3 o'clock in the morning," Kris said.

Adam couldn't argue with that—people were always getting stabbed on the L train. "Thanks."

Kris's car was parked around the corner, a tiny blue Honda that had been all but buried by the plow. But the snow was powder-light, and it didn't take them long to clear it off, Kris at the front and Adam at the back, brushing the windows off with big sweeps of his sleeve. The back window had two transparent stickers, one for University of Arkansas and one for the University of Central Arkansas, and just above the bumper was one of those stylized fish. Adam was surprised, as Kris had never said anything much about being some big Christian.

They got in and the car started right up, freezing air blasting out of the vents. "God bless that Japanese engineering," Kris said, rubbing his hands and putting the ice scraper on the floor in the back seat.

"Your car is very clean," Adam said, because it was—Kris didn't have to move piles of things off the front seat like most of Adam's friends back in California. He even had one of those trash cans for the car that you could buy at Pep Boys.

"It didn't used to be," Kris replied, pulling the radio out of his messenger bag and sliding it into its slot in the dash. "Katy treated it like a big purse on wheels. But I figure it's less for people to try to steal." He flipped through a wallet of CDs. "Pumpkins?"

"Sure," Adam said, a little thrown by Kris's casual mention of what must be his ex-wife's name. Then out of what looked like pretty crappy standard issue speakers came a much larger sound, the strings from the opening of "Tonight, Tonight" making the car into a concert hall. "Wow, great stereo."

"Yeah, high school friend hooked me up," Kris said. "Okay, Alphabet City, right?"

"12th and C," Adam replied, nodding. "Great song. Seen the video? It's so gorgeous."

Kris grinned. "You like it because Billy Corgan's wearing a top hat."

"Maybe," Adam replied.

As they pulled out onto the avenue, Kris said, "Sorry if I put you in a bad position."

Adam shrugged. "Like you said, it's for Simon. I figure I can put up with Cook for his sake."

"Yeah. I think a lot of us will be doing what we can."

"You too?"

Kris cocked his head. "I know I haven't been here long," he said, "but I dunno, I'm the kinda fella that people just sorta tell things to, y'know?"

Adam nodded. "Yeah."

"So I figure I'll just keep my ears open, try to ask the right questions."

"Sounds cool," Adam said. "I guess we'll be checking in with you."

Kris nodded. They were stopped at the light on 12th street, and Kris was tapping the drum beat against the steering wheel and singing along under his breath: _that life can change, that you're not stuck in vain._

Adam, never one not to sing when he could, joined in: _we're not the same, we're different_.

Kris turned to him, grinning, and then they were both singing along: _tonight, tonight, tonight_.

At the break Adam said, "Sorry. I love singing in cars."

"Me too," Kris said. "Especially late at night. 'Bullet with Butterfly Wings' will take me over the bridge."

The song was ending when they pulled up to Adam's building. "Thanks for the lift," Adam said.

"Anytime, really," Kris said, smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow, probably. Carly told me to stop in at Club AGT tomorrow afternoon, and then I'm working."

"Yeah, I'm on tomorrow too," Adam said, smiling back. Getting out of the car wasn't easy given the small car, the messy sidewalk, and the platforms, but he managed to say upright. "Well, goodnight," he said, leaning into the window. "Drive safe."

"Will do," Kris said. They waved, and Kris was on his way.

Inside, as he'd predicted, his roommate Allison Iraheta was up, sitting cross-legged on the futon in the tiny living room eating ramen noodles. She'd grown up in the Bronx, and had first come to the club a few months ago. Adam liked her style, and was looking for a new roommate at the time anyway; Allison had just finished high school and was looking to get out of her mother's house. She had a day job keeping appointments at a tattoo parlor owned by a friend of Carly's, but like all of them, she really wanted to sing, and Adam had been working his magic on Simon on her behalf. He felt protective of her, given the five years he had on her, but sometimes he wondered if she was just as protective of him.

"Dude, what happened with the cops?" she asked.

"Man," Adam said, taking off his coat and then slumping down in a chair, "they found drugs in Simon's _desk_!"

Allison's eyes grew wide. "I need a drink to hear this story," she said, and over vodka tonics Adam told her everything that had happened, including having to work with Cook.

"Could be worse," she said. "I didn't know him, but he can't be _that_ bad if everyone else likes him."

Adam shrugged. "He isn't bitchy to everyone else," he said.

She snickered. "You can out-bitch anybody, Adam."

"Damn straight," he said, grinning. "And then Kris Allen drove me home," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Really?" she asked. "So what happened?"

"Nothing, he just drove me home, whatever," Adam said. "Nothing to get excited about."

"Come on, Adam," she said. "He's really cool and I know you think he's cute."

"Cute, yeah," Adam said. "And divorced, and out of the closet for about a week and a half. Like, call me when you've been around a few times."

"I guess," Allison said.

Adam looked up at the clock. "Man, it's so late it's early," he said. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

He washed his face—the one hard-and-fast, I-don't-care-how-drunk-you-are rule his mother handed down to him was to always wash off your makeup before going to bed—and then slipped _Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness_ into his discman before turning out the light. He heard Billy Corgan sing _the world is a vampire_ and thought of Kris in his blue Honda headed into Brooklyn and singing along, but Adam was asleep before the song was over.

[The Smashing Pumpkins | Bullet with Butterfly Wings](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Bullet_With_Butterfly_Wings/12831886)


	2. Whose Heroin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and David start their investigation with drug lord Nigel Lythgoe, but it's Kris who discovers a big clue.

This is how it happened:

Adam had been at Club Idol for about a month when he got his showcase at AGT. He'd heard about the place and had come right in and auditioned as soon as he got to the city, and got a job pretty quickly. Something about him and Simon Cowell just clicked; Cowell seemed to _get_ him, when the folks in LA never did. He was looking forward to getting out of the musical theater ghetto he'd been in, and go for some real rock 'n' roll.

According to his coworkers there was always a top star, a chosen one, a numero uno, and the one being groomed at the moment was David Cook. He was oddly not that much to look at, in Adam's opinion, with a bad haircut atop a giant forehead, an unfortunate soul patch that just made his cheeks look bigger, and a bit of a gut. He was weirdly geeky, always doing crossword puzzles or something, and he was really friendly. He supposedly had some Australian tennis pro boyfriend, but that just sounded to Adam like the patented girlfriend in another state. Not exactly rock god material.

Not that Adam had come out of the womb looking as he did. Sure, he could still have strawberry hair and show everyone his freckles and have a little extra weight, but that wasn't the image he wanted to portray. And more than anything, he wanted to project something, something that was still him, was probably more him than his actual self, but that was a little bit stronger, a little bit harder than he really was.

And anyway Simon had said that David was going off on some trip soon, so there was room for a new star at the top, and Adam had every intention of making sure that star was him. One of his errors in LA was not being aggressive enough about the chances he was given; he wasn't going to make that mistake again. So sure, maybe he had a little bit of an attitude when he was putting together the songs for his showcase. But it was his fucking showcase, damnit, and it was going to be awesome.

So of course it was pretty much totally awesome, or at least, pretty much totally what Adam had wanted it to be. Three songs, two fast and one slow, his singing was solid, he worked the fuck out of that stage, he had the perfect outfit, the band was great, and Simon seemed to really like it. Sure, he got notes, but he was expecting them, even looking forward to them; after all, he wasn't there _yet_. And because Simon got what he was doing in the first place, what he had to say about it could only make it better.

And then, of course, David Cook had to come up to him.

"Hey, Adam, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Adam said, with all the attitude he had, which was considerable.

"Right, well, um, I'm David."

"I know," Adam said, because seriously, David was the numero uno, and to suggest that Adam didn't know who he was, was to suggest that Adam was an idiot.

"Great, okay, so I was watching you," he said, "and first, I thought you were pretty good."

"Thanks?" Adam said.

"Sure," David said, as though Adam had actually accepted his compliment instead of seeing it for the condescending comment that it was. "But I think you get a little over the top in places."

"Over the top?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, kinda, theatrical?"

"Yeah, because there have never been theatrical rock singers," Adam replied dryly.

David scowled ever so slightly, and Adam thought, good, maybe he's getting what the situation actually is here. "Even Freddy Mercury wasn't like that right out of the box," he said.

"Well, I am," Adam said.

David shrugged. "Okay, man, if that's how you want to play it," he said.

"That's how it's played," Adam replied, wondering how this guy got to be Simon's favorite if he didn't understand that.

David turned away, shaking his head, and Adam sat down at the bar. The nerve of that guy, to come up and try to give him notes when hello, he wasn't his manager, he had no idea what Adam was trying to do. Well, whatever.

David Cook hit the stage himself about twenty minutes later. Adam had never actually seen him perform and couldn't imagine it because the guy was so fucking goofy at work. But Adam could tell just by the set of his shoulders as he strapped on his guitar—to much applause, of course; he couldn't be the favorite for nothing, however disingenuous he was about it—that his onstage persona would be quite different. Adam had heard that originally, Cook was singing a lot of grungy rock, but lately had been goofing around with synth covers. This didn't make a lot of sense, but whatever; maybe once you became the favorite you just had to coast until the deal was done.

"Hey guys," David said. "Okay, here's our latest attempt to rescue shitty songs on the radio." He counted off, and he and Carly—which, immigration or no, that whole gay guy married to a lesbian thing was just _weird_—started playing a riff that sounded vaguely familiar. _so much for your promises_ he sang, in a growl that surprised Adam. Cook was clearly serious about his "rescue", because the song was still there, just stripped of bullshit synths and pumped up with drums and guitar and a vocal that was light years away from anything you could call smooth.

Cook certainly knew what his strengths were, and as he stood there singing and eyefucking about 90% of the crowd, girls and guys alike, Adam admitted, if only to himself, that David Cook had earned his place as the favorite. He needed a makeover to make his outsides match his insides, and that he didn't seem to get that made Adam want to roll his eyes, because rock was at least one-third image, but whatever. Unlike _some people_, Adam was aware it wasn't his place to give advice.

Now that he'd seen him perform, Adam knew he could safely dismiss most of Cook's comments because they just weren't doing the same thing. But was Adam also even more determined to dethrone him, because being the favorite looked like a pretty fucking sweet gig.

* * *

[The Knack | My Sharona](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/My_Sharona/7288000)

_22 February 1996_

It was 2am when Ryan got home, which wasn't particularly late by his standards, but being alone in the townhouse was unsettling. He needed a drink, but he wanted to be lucid when Simon called. He could do with a bath, but he didn't want to be in the tub when Simon called, either. He settled for some romcoms on the bedroom VCR; perfect, because he didn't think he could sleep anyway. He'd watched _When Harry Met Sally_ and _Four Weddings and a Funeral_ and had moved on to _Reality Bites_. Winona Ryder and Janeane Garafalo were dancing in a gas station quickie mart when the phone call finally came.

"Simon?"

"It's me, how are you, darling?"

"I'm—I'm fine now." Ryan exhaled, relieved just to be talking to him. "Pretty elaborate way to fulfill your prison rape fantasy."

"Ha-ha," Simon said, but he was chuckling, too. "Don't worry about me. They're sending me to Riker's Island this morning, but you can visit me there."

"Every day," Ryan said.

"You're far too busy for that," Simon said, "and anyway they won't let you, I don't think."

"Do you need anything? They let you wear your own clothing, don't they?"

"Yes, but Hernandez and Ramiele have the list, let them worry about that."

"Okay. I love you."

"I know." He sighed. "I didn't do it, Ryan."

"I know. We all know. We're working on it. We'll get you out of there."

"Of course you will. Right, I have to go but Ryan, take care of yourself, yeah? I don't want to have to worry about whether or not you're eating."

Ryan chuckled. "I will."

"Love you too. I'll call you later."

"Bye, darlin'."

Ryan hung up the phone and stared at it for a bit before reaching for the Kleenex and the remote. Sitting in bed watching Ethan Hawke being charming was as good a time to break down as any. He could be strong again tomorrow.

* * *

[Liz Phair | Supernova](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Supernova/653332)

David Cook closed his eyes, willing the caffeine in his coffee to hit his blood stream. He didn't really want to be awake, didn't want to go to some midtown lawyer's office. He wanted to just sit here in his apartment, now that he was finally home, and listen to Liz Phair—she was singing something about how her man's "eyelashes sparkle like gilded glass" whatever that meant. Instead, he sat groggily watching Carly and Michael cuddling on the sofa. "You know," David said, "any other man would be jealous."

"You said you wanted me to get along with your wife," Michael said. "You didn't say how."

Carly giggled. "It's not like we're snogging, David."

As David growled and took another gulp of coffee, holding tight to the cup with both hands, the bedroom door opened and a small teenager emerged. "Wow," the kid said, looking at David, "guess you're not a morning person."

"Morning person!" David said, exasperated. "I've had seven hours of sleep in the last two days and my body thinks it's 10 o'clock at night!"

"Also he's not a morning person," Carly said. "Don't shout at poor little David; he'll think you're an ogre."

"I don't think that," the boy said quickly. "And I'm really not that little."

David Archuleta was the latest in a string of subletters of David Cook's room in the apartment he shared with Carly. They'd only met the day before, but David had already fallen for the kid's goofy charm, and Carly clearly thought the world of him. So they'd decided to let the kid stay, even though it was a bit cramped, since Michael had a hotel room anyway.

"Archuleta, then," Carly said. "We call that ogre over there 'Cook' most of the time anyway."

"I'm not an ogre, thanks," David said. He regarded the teen. "Archie. I think Archie suits him better."

"Gee, nobody's ever given me a nickname before," Archie said.

David shook his head. "I dunno if Simon is gonna go for all this golly gee stuff, Carly."

"You talked to Simon?" Archie asked.

"Yeah—good news and bad news. Good news, he wants to see you."

"Super!" he said, smiling broadly.

"Bad news, he got arrested last night."

"Oh," Archie replied.

"But," David continued, "we're going to get him out as soon as we can, and actually, I have an appointment uptown. And you," he said, pointing at Michael, "have a meeting with a real estate agent. So Carly, it's up to you to keep Archie from running into traffic."

"Can't," she said, getting up from the couch. "Gotta date."

"At 10 o'clock in the morning?" David asked, grabbing his coat.

"She's a nurse," Carly said. "Works overnight at Bellevue. She's coming to pick me up now."

"Guess you're on your own, kid," Michael said.

"I can take care of myself," Archie said, scowling.

"'Course you can," David replied, ruffling his hair before walking out the door.

"I grew up in the Bronx, you know!" he shouted as the door closed behind them.

On the street in front of their building sat a woman, clad in leather, atop a Harley. She had dark brown hair, but the bits around her face were platinum blonde.

David walked up to her, extending a hand. "You must be Carly's date," he said. "I'm David, her husband."

The girl shook his hand. "I'm Amanda," she said, smiling. "Heard you were coming back this week."

Carly huffed behind him. "Stop trying to make trouble," she said, then leaned in to kiss Amanda. "Hey baby."

"Hey," she replied. "Ready to go?"

"You bet," she said, grabbing the extra helmet from the back of the bike. "Oh, this is Michael, David's boyfriend."

He and Amanda shook hands as well, then Carly got on the back of the bike. "See ya later!"

They drove off, and Michael and David walked in the other direction down the still-snowy sidewalk to the subway. "That girl had a very firm handshake, didn't she?" Michael asked.

David shrugged. "All her girlfriends are like that."

* * *

"So what you're saying is, we're fucked," Ryan said.

"I wouldn't go that far," David Hernandez replied.

Adam wasn't particularly used to being up and doing things this early, so he was still clutching the mug of coffee that the secretary had handed him when they walked in. The office reminded him of Arnie's in _LA Law_—big window behind Hernandez with a view of the Hudson river, imposing walnut desk, comfortable chairs for the clients, leather-bound books in the bookcase. Hernandez looked young, probably a junior partner, but that made sense; Simon always valued young and hungry over old and experienced. David Cook didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep, either, and Ryan didn't look like he'd slept at all.

"The ADA was very clear," Hernandez continued. "She wants Simon to flip on Nigel Lythgoe."

"Which he will never do," Ryan said.

"He might need to change his policy on that," Hernandez replied.

Ryan shook his head. "He won't," he said. "Besides, he doesn't actually know anything. Nothing current, anyway."

"Well, we're not going to get bail for that reason, and because she's decided he's a flight risk." He looked down at his desk calendar. "The arraignment is set for a week from tomorrow. I think we should present a defense—maybe we can get an acquittal then. If we put up a good fight she _might_ back off."

"You sound like you don't believe that," Cook said.

Hernandez tapped his pencil. "DioGuardi's been after Lythgoe for years, ever since she got on Special Narcotics. If she thinks Simon is her way in, she's not going to let go easily. She might not have enough to convict—the drugs weren't on his person, many have access to that office—but in this climate it's probably more than enough to indict, and that's usually enough to scare someone into rolling over."

"Not Simon." Ryan sighed and rubbed his temples. "Okay, so what now?"

"On our end, we're going to look into the financials," Hernandez said, "and see who would gain from Simon being out of the picture. Ryan, these are the guys you said could poke around downtown?"

"Right."

"Okay," he said, and made eye contact with Adam and David. "For the love of God, _do not_ do anything illegal. No breaking and entering. Take pictures, don't take things. It won't do Simon any good if I have to go in and bail you two out. Got it?"

Adam turned to David, who looked more somber than he'd ever seen him. "We got it," David said, and Adam nodded.

"Good. Ryan, we'll check in each morning, good for you?"

"Yes, definitely." He rose, and David and Adam stood as well. "Thanks, man."

"Anytime. And really, call me if anything comes up."

"We will."

Ryan was quiet in the elevator, but as soon as they hit the street he made a beeline for a pay phone. He pulled a piece of paper from his wallet, and dialed the number; for the first time since Simon was arrested, he seemed angry. "Yeah, I think you know who this is," he barked into the phone. "You're fucking right it's a mess. … I'd say I have every reason to be pissed. … Give me an address. I'm sending people over there. … Jesus, of course I can't. You know that. I shouldn't even be calling you. … Yeah, well, you can tell that to him when he gets out." He hung up the phone, then turned to Adam and David.

"Okay, 225 west 4th street, looks like a storefront under construction. Tell them you're Cowell's people, and they'll let you in to see Nigel. Don't let him snow you, but don't let him get a rise out of you either. He likes doing that. Just get him to tell you how his drugs ended up in my man's desk." Ryan ran a hand through his hair and sighed, calming himself down, then reached into his pocket and turned his phone back on. It beeped with new messages. "I—I've gotta get back to work. Don't call me to talk about Nigel. We'll do it in person later."

Adam put a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "We'll take care of it. It'll be fine."

"Yeah, man. You know, try not to think about it," David added.

"Thanks guys," Ryan said, and headed back down Broadway to the MTV offices. "If you need any other numbers, call Ramiele," he shouted.

* * *

[Tori Amos | Cornflake Girl](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/07_Cornflake_Girl_The_Very_Best_Of_MTV_Unplugged_Vol_2_Tori_Amos/21487697)

Kris kept his keyboard in front of the window of his tiny studio apartment. One of the reasons he decided to live in Brooklyn, other than being able to keep the car, was so he could live alone. Going from living with a wife to a roommate didn't seem right, somehow; he needed some time alone to work through how he'd gotten to this point in the first place. His view wasn't that great—the bridge overpass—but he could see the sunrise, and when he came home from work still keyed up he'd sit there and play, watching the winter sky go from black to rosy pink to ice blue.

He didn't do that last night, though. He'd been exhausted from everything that had happened—Simon wanting him to play at AGT, the arrest, the car ride with Adam—and collapsed into bed. Now he was just drinking some coffee, listening to Tori Amos making metaphors out of breakfast cereal and trying to loosen up before his audition later, when his cell phone chimed the alarm he'd set for noon.

Kris had never had a cell phone before, but in New York it was essential. He made ends meet teaching guitar lessons, mostly to ladies on the upper west side, and it paid to be always-reachable. Besides, the long distance plan was much cheaper, and he liked knowing that he could call his parents, or his brother, whenever he needed to. But noon, that was a regular call.

"Hello?"

"Hey lady," Kris said.

"Good morning," Katy replied.

"How are you?" he asked. "How did the audition go?"

"Pretty well, I think," she said. "I have a call back on that other thing tomorrow."

"The toothpaste ad?" he asked. 

"Yep!"

"Katy, that's great!" he said. "You should get it, you have great teeth."

"Yeah, well, so do all the other girls," she said.

"They can't be—"

"As pretty as me?" she finished. "Kris, it's like the prettiest girl from every sorority got on a bus and came to Hollywood, where they lost twenty pounds and got fake boobs, a fake tan, and hair extensions."

"Sounds like a lot of fake," Kris said. "At least your boobs are real."

"I'm not sure anyone cares about that except—well, I'm not sure anyone cares about that anymore."

"Hey," he said, "I still care about your breasts, you know."

"I know," she said, softly. "So, how about you?"

He told her about the audition at AGT, about Simon's arrest—to which her only comment was "of course you should do what you can, but be careful"—and about his car ride with Adam. "I dunno," he said, "it was nice, singing in the car like that."

"You were kinda avoiding him for a while, weren't you?" she asked.

"Well, it was awkward, after what happened," he replied. "But maybe now we can be friends. Friends are good, need more friends."

"You haven't made friends at church?" she asked.

"Oh I have," he said, "but you know, they're mostly regular people with regular jobs, not like, crazy musicians working at nightclubs downtown. Doesn't seem to be a lot of crossover that I've seen so far."

"Well, maybe you should try going to the later services. Not everyone likes staying up all night and then going to church."

"True," he said. "I'll think about that. But I want to make more friends at the club, too."

"You will. People love you."

"You love me," he said.

"I do, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah."

"And if you want to be something more than friends with him, that's okay, too," she said. "It's been a while. You should date more."

"I will," he said, even though the prospect of it made him feel anxious, given that he hadn't really dated before, let alone dated men.

"Good. Because, um, I'm going out tonight, actually."

"Yeah?" Kris asked. "With who?"

"Whom," Katy said, "and it's the bartender from work. He's an actor, too."

"Of course he is. You're in LA."

"This isn't weird?" she asked.

"No," he said, and almost meant it. "I think—I think we're just weird. Well, obviously we're weird, because we didn't even notice that we were weird, and now that we have, we've gone right back to being the same weird we were before. Um, if that makes any sense."

She chuckled. "Probably only to me, but then, I'm weird!"

They both laughed then. "God, Katy, what would I do without you?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know what I'd do without you either. You come in pretty handy, actually."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah, when some guy is talking to me, and I tell him about you, and he acts like a jerk, then I can cut him off right away," she said. "Better than not finding out he's a homophobic jerk until a few months in."

"True," Kris said.

"But Bethany's gay friend gives her makeup and wardrobe advice," she said. "So you need to step it up."

"Well, Adam could probably do that for you," he said. "Heck, he could probably do that for me."

* * *

[Sexteto Mayor | Tanguera](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Tanguera/1136109)

David and Adam took the train downtown in silence, and Adam began to wonder if David had acquiesced to the situation. For his part, he was determined not to start anything. But once they were on the sidewalk, David said, "So I'll take the lead on this one."

"What?" Adam asked. "Why?"

David cocked his head. "Because I know some of these people."

"Like Anoop?" Adam asked. "Everyone knows Anoop."

"No," David said, "not Anoop. Other people."

"Who you're not going to tell me about?"

"Whom you'll meet when we get inside. Sheesh, Mary, take a chill pill."

Adam rolled his eyes, but he didn't have much in the way of a snappy comeback.

They were on that part of West 4th street that had confused Adam when he first moved to the city, where it took a strange 90º turn, resulting in corners like West 10th and West 4th. The address in question did look like a storefront under construction, with newspaper lining the inside of the plate glass window and work permits on display. David tapped at the door.

It opened just enough for a handsome man in a fedora to stick his head out. "Da?"

"We're Cowell's people," David said.

The man looked them up and down. "How do I know this?" he asked in a heavy Russian accent.

David sighed. "Someone just called to announce us."

"But how do I know you are the people from the phone call?"

"Look, just get Lacey," David said.

The man scowled. "Fine," he mumbled, and shut the door.

Adam turned to David. "So you know people?"

"Shut up," David said.

The door opened again, and this time a girl with dark hair pulled back into a tight bun appeared, and she gasped when she saw David. "My god, David Cook!" she squealed, and threw open the door.

"Hey Lacey," David said, grinning and returning her hug.

She was wearing some kind of costume, a sleeveless, close-fitting crimson dress with a long slit in its knee-length straight skirt; that and the flower in her hair made her look like an extra from _Evita_. "How long have you been back?"

"Like two days," he replied.

"Well, come in, come in!" she said, pulling them inside the door and through an inner curtain. "Don't mind Dmitry; he takes being at the door very seriously."

Dmitry was wearing pants and suspenders, but no shirt, and Adam was momentarily distracted by his sculpted chest and shoulders. "Is serious!" he protested.

Lacey rolled her eyes. "You can leave your coats here," she said, indicating a nook that was probably once the coat check.

She led them into the main room, which was warm and quite dark, and their eyes had to adjust from the bright chill of the street. An overhead lamp with an old-timey fixture cast an amber light, and instrumental music played from a hidden stereo. Young people lounged on couches and chairs around the periphery, all in costume similar to Lacey and Dmitry. In the center of the room, a middle-aged couple danced in a tight embrace. The man had a fedora, too, tilted at an angle that almost hid his face; he had shaggy blond hair and a small but powerful build. The woman was pretty, with long brown hair and incredible legs, shown to full effect by the thigh-high slit in her skirt.

Lacey leaned over to David and muttered, "We're doing the tango this week."

Once she said that Adam could place the music, that driving beat and the accordions and strings. At first the couple stepped in time to the beat of a staccato drum, bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee. As the accordion kicked in so did their dancing, and they moved quickly across the floor, the man lifting up the woman and swinging her from one side to the other, holding her tight against his body. When the music got even faster, they did a series of steps where she kicked her foot up between his legs, and Adam wondered if there had been any errant kicks when they were rehearsing. They danced slinkily together a bit longer, and as the song ended, he dipped her, low.

He looked up, seeing Adam and David watching from the entryway, and quickly pulled the woman upright.

"Right, you lot see what you can make of that," he said. "Dmitry and Heidi, you take over. I expect to see some results when I return!" He walked over to David and Adam, who realized he must be Nigel Lythgoe. "You were sent by Cowell, I expect?" he asked.

"Yes," David replied. "I'm David, this is Adam."

Handshakes all around, then Nigel said, "Let's go into my office." He turned back to the dancers. "Travis? Could you come with me please?"

From the crowd, a young man who looked so much like Blake that Adam did a double-take—same size, the same build if Blake were in ridiculous shape, same hair—followed them down a dark hallway into the back.

Behind the office door, a few other folks sat around watching some black and white video of a woman in flowing skirts and a shirtless man dancing to Copland's "Appalachian Spring." "Ah, yes," Nigel said as he sat behind the desk. "Mia always turns to Martha Graham when she's blocked."

"I'm not blocked," said the scowling woman with short blonde hair and horn-rimmed glasses who held the remote. "I just need clarity."

"Well, turn it down for me, won't you, darling?" he asked. "These are Cowell's people."

As she did, the woman who'd been dancing with Nigel sat on the desk, her legs crossed such that her skirt slid even higher up her thighs, making her look like Cyd Charise in _Singin' in the Rain_, and Adam wondered if that was precisely what she was going for. He had a sudden urge to take a quarter out of his pocket and start tossing it up and down.

"So," Nigel said, "what do you know?"

David answered, "We know that they were your drugs. I saw them myself. We know that DioGuardi wants Simon to inform on you, and that he won't. We know that there's a very short list of people who could have put them into the desk. What we want to know is, who should have had them, and where should they have been."

Nigel scowled. "Can't actually tell you that. Not because we don't want to, but because whoever is missing their allotment isn't talking about it. Very inconvenient." He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch, and a tall blonde sprang up to fetch him glasses from a cabinet in the corner. "Thank you Cat. Please, I insist," he said, pouring out scotch for himself, Adam and David. "Marc, you should have some as well," he said, and a balding man who'd been sitting in the corner stood next to the desk and took a glass of his own. Nigel took a sip and smacked his lips. "But what I can tell you is how our distribution system works—or used to work, until yesterday. We're completely overhauling it, so I don't mind letting you in on it."

"We've got a working solution for you," Marc said.

"I would hope so," Nigel replied. "Right, how we get it into the country and process and package it is of no concern to you, I assume?"

"None," David replied.

"Once we have it in the envelopes," Nigel said, "it's placed into batches the size of the one that was seized, and given to the couriers. I won't go into how that works, as all the batches for the week were picked up as scheduled, and by the appropriate people."

"There's one courier per dealer," said Marc. "The dead drop is coordinated by us. Cat calls with the locations; that way the courier and the dealer are never in the same place at the same time. They don't even know who their contact is, and the locations change every week. Whoever wanted to set up Cowell is either one of the dealers, or one of the couriers. And since we haven't heard any shouting from a dealer about how his package wasn't there, we're thinking it's one of the couriers. And that's the part of the system we're changing now."

"It's always Cat?" David asked.

"That's part of the system," Marc said.

"I have a very distinctive voice," Cat said, and she did, round tones like an announcer with an accent that sounded like one of the girls on Monty Python.

"What would happen," Adam asked, "if there was a cop or someone else staking out the drop?"

"Oh, that wouldn't happen," Nigel said.

"Wouldn't happen?" David asked.

"Let's just say that Mr. Giuliani isn't the only one keeping the streets safe," Nigel said. "Turf wars are messy and violent. If one person controls all the territory, it's remarkably calm and peaceful. And if we have a problem within our own organization, we simply take care of it as we see fit." He stared at Adam, sternly. Travis-the-Blake-clone shifted behind him, and Adam noticed the bulge in his jacket that probably meant he was armed. Adam was suddenly reminded that for all the dancer trappings, Nigel was still a drug dealer.

"But the dealers know about your relationship with Cowell," David said smoothly, "so wouldn't it be in their best interest _not_ to tell you, in case you blamed all this on them?"

Marc shook his head. "Not when they have to get five grand to us as our cut," Marc said. "If they had that kind of cash lying around, and could survive a week of no profits, they wouldn't be dealing."

David nodded, and there was a pause.

"Anything else?" Nigel asked.

"I don't think so," David said.

"So in return," Nigel said, "we ask that you let us know who betrayed us."

"And if you find out before we do?" David asked.

Nigel smiled—a wide, cold smile. "We'll tell you," he said. "Either way, we want to deal with this event internally. I'm sure you understand."

Adam felt a little creeped out, but David said, "Of course." He stood, and then they all did. "Thank you for talking to us."

"Of course," he said. "Anything for Simon. Say, aren't you the one we sent Lacey over for?"

"Yes, I am," David replied. "Thank you, it was a great help."

"Glad to do it," Nigel said. "Glad to do it. Oh, would you like anything while you're here? Complimentary, of course."

Adam and David looked at each other. Adam didn't really want anything at all, but he wasn't sure if they could really refuse.

"You know," David said, "we have a lot of people to see today, and I'd rather not be wandering around with anything on me. But we both appreciate the offer."

"Of course. If you have any information, Ryan will know how to find us."

"And if you do?" David asked.

"Don't worry about that," Nigel said. "We know where you are."

Once they were out on the street, and out of the sight of the storefront, Adam turned to David and said, "Okay, that was creepy."

"Yeah, he's pretty intense," David replied.

"So, what's with that girl Lacey?"

"Oh, Simon thought the way I moved on stage wasn't sexy enough," David said, "so Nigel leant Lacey to help me out."

"Interesting," Adam said. "He's never had to say that to _me_."

David raised an eyebrow. "I've actually heard him say just the opposite," he said. "Not that it matters, since you don't listen to criticism."

"Whatever," Adam said, rolling his eyes. "So what's next."

"Lunch," David said.

* * *

[Dionne Warwick | I Say a Little Prayer](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/I_Say_A_Little_Prayer/3249053)

They ended up at the Waverly, one of those hole-in-the-wall diners that served "chops" and had fake exposed brick. It was already 2pm, so they easily scored a window table. Adam could just see the basketball courts at the West 4th stop on the other side of sixth ave.

They ordered, and then David pulled a notebook and pen from his bag. "Okay," he said. "They usually make lists of suspects, in the books. So let's start with motive. Paula—I know they're friends, but ex-wives can't be overlooked."

"That city councilman from Bay Ridge," Adam said.

David looked up. "That guy still giving Simon trouble?" he asked.

Adam nodded. "He practically bullied Simon into letting him have the club for a benefit for that foundation of his, to get his vote on the noise ordinance."

David rolled his eyes. "There might be money stuff, but I think we'll have to wait and see what Hernandez turns up. Okay, means?"

"Nigel. We shouldn't count him out just because Simon says so."

"Not at all." As he wrote "anon. courier" David said, "I don't buy that shit that guy Marc was saying about how it couldn't be a dealer, either. Opportunity, that's everyone who could have put the drugs into the drawer. Who even knew about the drawer? Chris Richardson, I'd bet."

"Worth asking him, and Nick too. The office girls that are still around: Kristy Lee, Ramiele—"

"Tatitana," David said, writing the names down.

"She was an office girl?" Adam asked. "What, a favor to her dad?"

David nodded. "One of the perks of owning the building. And I hate to say it, but …"

"Ryan, yeah. Well, then we can clear him."

By the end of lunch, they had a list with annotations:

> **PAULA ADBUL**—Ex-wife. PROS: Semi-acrimonious divorce. Hidden spite? Must also know Lythgoe and how to work hidden desk drawer. CONS: Alimony—Simon goes to jail, she stops getting her check.
> 
> **DANIEL GOKEY**—City Councilman. PROS: Wanted to shut down the club due to noise complaints, til Simon charmed him. CONS: Doubtful he has a connection to Lythgoe, or one that can be proven.
> 
> **NIGEL LYTHGOE**—"Businessman". PROS: Could easily get heroin, and bribe someone else to plant it. CONS: Wouldn't want to put Simon in a position to inform on him. No clear motive.
> 
> **ANON. COURIER.** PROS: Means. CONS: Why would courier have motive? Or be close enough to Simon to have opportunity? Or know that their dealer wouldn't squeal to Lythgoe?
> 
> **ANON. DEALER.** PROS: Means. CONS: Would framing Simon be worth the money and possible danger? What motive, and what opportunity?
> 
> **CHRIS RICHARDSON**—Manager, Club Idol. PROS: Opportunity. May have unknown motive just from working under Simon. CONS: No clear motive, nor connection to Lythgoe's organization.
> 
> **NICK MITCHELL**—Manager, Club AGT. PROS: Opportunity, same possible motive as C.Rich. CONS: Or no motive, and no Lythgoe connection.
> 
> **KRISTY LEE COOK**—Former office girl. PROS: Known for blaming Simon for lack of music career; hated working for him. Opportunity. CONS: Lythgoe connection?
> 
> **TATIANA DEL TORO**—Former office girl. PROS: Opportunity. CONS: Doesn't seem to bear a grudge against Simon; doesn't have connection to Lythgoe's people.
> 
> **RAMIELE MALUBUY**—Current office girl. PROS: Opportunity. CONS: Still in Simon's good graces. No connection to Lythgoe.
> 
> **RYAN SEACREST**—Lover. PROS: Opportunity, could find Lythgoe, could be working with him against Simon. CONS: No apparent motive.

"It's a start," Adam said.

David looked at his watch. "I have to be at Club AGT; I told Carly I'd come to her rehearsal."

Adam remembered that Kris had mentioned he'd be trying out for Nick today. Surely it wouldn't be bad to lend him some moral support. "I'll come along," he said.

"See?" David said. "You went a whole hour without saying anything bitchy. I knew you could do it."

"Sure I can, when the conversation isn't _completely boring_," Adam said.

"Oh, here we go," David replied, rolling his eyes.

* * *

[The Sounds | Song with a Mission](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Song_With_A_Mission/34687)

"God, Megan, what crawled up _your_ ass and died?" Carly asked.

Club AGT was Simon's other location—a small performance space and bar below Houston St on the lower east side. It showcased the kinds of acts Simon might manage but that didn't fit with the pop-and-dance focus of Club Idol. Some nights had stand up comics, other nights drag queens, but most nights there were rock bands on the AGT stage, and Simon thought Kris would be a better fit for AGT than for Idol. Kris had arrived early to meet with manager Nick Mitchell, but he hadn't arrived yet, so Carly invited him to sit in on her band Cherry Bomb's rehearsal in the small practice space in the cellar. It wasn't going particularly well because their drummer, Megan Joy, was having trouble concentrating.

"It wasn't me," Alexis Grace said, setting down her bass and lighting another cigarette. "She's been like this all day." Alexis had pink and blonde hair and looked pretty tough, but Kris thought it was just an act, as most days she was very considerate to the eccentric Megan.

"Guys, leave her alone," said Brooke White, the keyboardist. "She'll calm down faster if we stay off her case." Kris had met Brooke before and she was really nice—he liked her a lot.

"Let's just start again from the top," Carly said. "Okay, Megan?"

Megan nodded, but didn't say anything. She had long straight blonde hair and would have reminded Kris of Katy if it weren't for the tattoos all over her arms, and that she was about six inches taller than him. She counted off the beat, and after eight bars Alexis joined in, then Carly and Brooke on a straight-ahead post-punk rock song. Carly sang: _hey what do you say I gotta fifteen million dollar contract coming my way_. But when they went into the chorus, things went awry.

"Damnit, Megan!" Carly said, as the band stopped playing. "You fucked up the transition _again_!"

Megan growled, then tossed her sticks on the floor and ran out of the room.

Alexis tutted. "I'm not going after her," she said.

"You guys are frustrated," Kris said. "I'll go."

He found Megan in the storage room, sitting on a crate. She looked up when he came in, and there were tears on her cheeks.

"Hey," he said gently. "Don't cry." He walked toward her slowly.

"Oh _god_ Kris, I'm in so much fucking trouble!"

"I'm sure you'll get the transition. Everyone has a bad rehearsal sometimes." He'd reached her side by then, and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her tight to his chest and putting his chin on top of her head. "Ain't worth all this."

"It isn't that," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. "I heard you were there last night."

"Where, at Idol? Yeah, I was working."

"In Simon's office, I mean. When—when it happened."

"Oh," he said, wondering what that had to do with anything. "Yeah, I was there. Kinda crazy."

"It's all my fault," she said.

"What is, honey?" he asked, not able to keep up with her change of topics.

She leaned back, looking at him. "If I tell you, you can't tell Alexis. You have to promise!"

"All right," Kris said, "for now."

"I did it. It's my fault he's in jail now."

"What?" Kris said. "I don't see how—"

"It is," she said. "I'm the one who put the drugs in Simon's desk."


	3. Crowds of Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megan's revelation, Kris's audition, and Ryan's visit to Simon.

This is how it happened:

Ryan Seacrest came by during set-up at Club Idol, on a night when David was overseeing the other bartenders. He was surprised to see Ryan, as he knew Simon was out at his Fire Island house for the next two weeks, and had just assumed that Ryan was out there with him. Then again, Ryan was kind of a workaholic, and the two weren't exactly joined at the hip.

"You like tennis, David?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah," he replied. "I mean, not as much as baseball, but yeah. Why?"

"I have an extra ticket to the MTV Networks box on Wednesday for the Open," he said. "Kind of a thank-you gift for having to be in town to do pre-VMA stuff. Come along?"

Which is how David Cook found himself in Flushing, in a luxury box, watching a men's quarterfinals. The ticket was for all day, both matches at center court, but Ryan was busy schmoozing various head honchos from his network, so between matches David decided to go for a stroll around the grounds. Other players were working out on the practice courts—juniors, seniors, some major players too. The Tennis Center was electric because so many male seeded players had gone out early—Sampras, Ivanisavic, Courier, Becker, Chang, all gone. Dave was really looking forward to Agassi's match later that evening; he'd always liked Agassi, even if he was an uneven player. He was often brilliant and besides, he was really hot.

David avoided the crowds around stars like Stich and Muster, instead sitting in the mostly-empty bleachers near where some men's doubles pairs were practicing, figuring that having twice as many guys in shorts to stare at was good for him. Doubles was a fast-moving game, and sometimes the ball didn't even hit bounce before a player hit it back. The doubles partners worked together seamlessly, sort of like a really good infield, and often they didn't even need to call the ball—not that there was time. One of the players in particular caught Dave's eye; he was on David's side of the net, which meant he got a good look at that ass every time he bent low to await the serve. He was handsome, with shaggy dark brown hair and full lips, and David had a thing for lips, so he'd perked up pretty immediately. He hadn't thought of getting too much eye candy at this thing beyond Agassi (well, and Ryan, but Ryan was a known quantity and also very taken) and found himself sliding forward just a little in his seat.

Of course it was at that moment that the player decided to glance backwards while talking to his partner, and saw David staring. He looked back and gave a little half grin and—was that a wink? David felt suddenly self-conscious and sat back as soon as the player had turned around again, slumping into a too-cool-for-this slouch. After all, he was a rock star in the making, not a band geek staring at the football players from the bleachers. He was glad he'd decided to look a little classier than usual for Ryan's sake, in dark jeans and a blue shirt, a B&amp;W Cards cap pulled low over forehead.

They finished after not too much longer, and the player gathered up his things, then, to David's surprise, walked right up the bleachers to him. "Saw you watching," he said in a broad Australian accent. "Like what you see?"

David looked up at him, one eye closed against the sun. (He'd seen Gary Cooper do it in an old movie and thought it looked cool, then practiced it in a mirror until he got it right.) "Maybe," he replied.

The guy nodded, smiling, and looked out over the courts. "You from around here, or just in for the tennis?" he asked.

"I live in Manhattan," David replied.

He leaned down, his hand resting on the step above David's, and he smelled of sweat and soap and sunblock. "So you must know where a fella can have some fun."

"What kind of fun are you looking to have?" David asked with a smile.

The other man's smile grew broader in response. "Whatever kind of fun you're having," he said.

David broke eye contact, looking around a bit before saying, "Don't you have some tennis to play?"

He laughed. "Yeah, semis tomorrow," he said, "and we gotta good shot, but either way, we'll be done by Saturday night, and we're not leaving for another week. You know, last grand slam of the season, so we've given ourselves a minibreak in the big city."

David reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a flyer for the club and a pen. "Well, whenever you're free, just go here," he said, writing his name on the top, "and tell them you're friends of mine. They'll let you in and someone will come find me." He handed the flyer to the man. "I'll make sure you have a good time."

The man looked him up and down. "I'll bet you will," he said, then glanced at the flyer. "David Cook, that's you?"

David nodded. "That's me."

The man held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, David Cook. I'm Michael Johns."

Kristy Lee was working the door on Saturday in that "are you awesome enough to impress me? No? Then fuck off" manner so necessary for summer weekends when the crowd outside the door was mostly tourists or bridge-and-tunnel (and didn't they have clubs in Jersey?). David wasn't hovering exactly, more paying attention to the door like any good floor manager, when Michael Johns came in. David was used to the famous and semi-famous coming to the club and had expected an entourage, or at least just his partner and a coach or two, but Michael was alone, looking even more handsome in jeans, t-shirt and denim jacket than he had in tennis whites. He walked right up to David.

"Thanks for inviting me," he said.

David looked him up and down. "You could have gotten in on your own," he said. "Sorry you guys lost today."

Michael shrugged. "We made it to a grand slam final," he said. "I think that's worth celebrating."

"Well," David said, feeling suddenly bold, "I'll have to make sure you have a good time tonight."

"I'm sure you will," Michael replied.

* * *

Kris pulled back, blinking, not quite able to process what he'd just been told. "You put the drugs in his desk? Why?"

"The message said that was the drop off!" Megan replied. "I was just doing what I was told!

He looked around the storage room. "Honey I'm gonna run and get you some tissues and I'll be right back. Don't move, okay?"

She nodded, looking up at him from where she sat on the crate. "Thanks."

Kris ran upstairs to the main room, meaning to grab his phone, when to his relief he saw David and Adam just coming in. "Guys, guys, you've gotta come with me," he said.

"Why?" Adam asked.

He grabbed some napkins from underneath the bar, wanting to make good on his promise to Megan, and quickly filled a glass with water. "I'll explain—or, Megan will. You've gotta hear what she told me."

They quickly followed him back down to the room. Kris went in first and walked right up to Megan, embracing her once again, and spoke in soothing tones. "Megan, Adam and David are helping to get Simon out of trouble. I need you to tell them what you just told me." She shook her head and Kris said, "Come on, now. You want to help Simon, don't you?" He handed her a napkin.

Megan sat up a little and blew her nose. "Yeah, I guess," she said.

"All right then," Kris said, and handed her the glass.

She took a sip, and cleared her throat. "I'm the one who put the packet in Simon's desk."

Adam and David exchanged a look. "Why did you do that, Megan?" Adam asked.

David cocked his head. "Are you working for Nigel Lythgoe?"

Megan looked up, and started to cry again as she nodded.

"It's okay, honey," Kris said. "Calm down, and tell us what happened."

Megan took a deep breath, and a long drink of water, and then started talking again. "I'm a courier. They put the stuff in a mailing envelope so if we're worried, we can just pop it into a mailbox. We pick it up from one place and we put it where the dealer can get it—usually taped under a chair or stuffed into a hidden crevice."

"Right, a dead drop," David said. "And you get a phone call each week."

"And this week she told me where to pick it up, and to put it into Simon's hidden drawer."

"You didn't think that was strange?" Adam asked. "Since Simon doesn't allow drugs in the club?"

"But she knew about the drawer," Megan said. "I figured they were for him for some reason, you know, personally from Nigel, and that's why they wanted me to deliver them."

"Because you also knew about the drawer, because you worked as Simon's office girl," David said.

"Yeah," she said. "So I came to the club a little early, and I put the drugs in the drawer when Simon went out for dinner."

"What's going on?" asked Carly, who was standing in the door. "Are we rehearsing today, or what?"

David walked to the door. "Carls, give us just five more minutes, okay? Just five minutes, then I promise, we'll bring her back to you."

Carly sighed, tapping her foot. "Fine, but that's all," she said, and walked away, shutting the door behind her.

"When do you get the phone call?" Adam asked.

"The call comes on Wednesday afternoon," she said. "I make the pick up in the early evening, and then I deliver to the drop. If I'm not home, she leaves the message on my machine."

"How do you get paid?" David asked.

"I get money for the previous week with the package," she said. "Two hundred dollars a week can make a big difference for the kids."

"How does Alexis not know, if there are messages left on your machine?" Kris asked.

"She works on Wednesdays, so I get the call, then head out to make the delivery when she gets home. Except this week, I was working, so I had to call home to pick up the message from the sitter." Megan sighed. "I guess I'm gonna have to tell her now, huh?"

Kris squeezed her hand. "We can be there with you when you do," he said.

"No, it's okay," she said, and took another deep breath. "Better to face it on my own."

"But Megan," David said, "don't tell anyone else, all right?"

They left the room then, Megan leaning on Adam's shoulder as she walked. At the door of the practice space Adam just said, "Hey, guys, can we give them a minute?" and walked back out to the bar with Carly and Brooke.

"So, Megan's with Alexis?" David asked.

"Yeah, they live out in Queens with their kids," Adam replied. "Kinda like Kate and Allie, but with fringe benefits."

"I always thought Kate and Allie were doing it anyway," Carly said.

"You would," David replied.

"I'm just sorry you were subjected to Kate and Allie in Ireland," Adam said. "It's kind of a shitty show."

"It is not!" Brooke said. "It's a perfectly nice little show."

"It was on for billions of years," Kris added.

"So was Full House," Adam said.

The front door opened then, and Nick Mitchell came in, wearing a cloak and carrying a walking stick. Nick was the eccentric manager and emcee of the little club, and no one really knew where or how he'd met Simon. Kris had been to shows down at Club AGT a couple of times since Simon hired him, and getting up on stage between acts, especially on open mike night, was Nick's forte. He could rouse a crowd like nobody's business, smooth over rough transitions and even oblige with a song when things got a bit slow. He was also a bit flamboyant; he acted the way most of the assholes at Kris's high school thought all gay men acted. He reminded Kris of a kindler, gentler Paul Lynde, if such a thing could exist.

"Hello dumplings," Nick said as he came in, removing his cloak to reveal a Hawaiian shirt in bright fuchsia and peacock. He regarded the group sitting at the bar and said, "Aren't you girls supposed to be practicing?"

Carly shrugged. "There's been some drama."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Women. Can't live with them, can't become one of them without extensive surgery. Hello little David Cook, welcome back," he said, hugging the man. "Carly's been all aflutter about your return."

"Wives are like that," he said smiling. "You look just the same."

"Just as good, you mean," Nick said, doing a slow turn.

David laughed. "Of course, that's exactly what I meant."

"And when are we getting you back up on that stage?" Nick asked.

"As soon as my band gets here," David said. "Some friends from back home."

"So Daddy comes out to the big bad city and once he gets a job he sends for the rest of the family. That's really sweet, David," he said, patting him on the cheek. Then his eyes lit on Kris. "Ah, you look like fresh meat. You must be Kris."

Nick extended his hand like a lady, but shook like a man. "Yeah, that's me," Kris said.

"The one little Matty found playing in the subway, no?"

Kris nodded.

"Well, go on up there," he said, flicking his wrist toward the small stage. "Show us what you've got."

Kris looked up at the stage. He'd brought his guitar, intending to play an acoustic version of a Donna Summer song that had always gone over well when he was busking, but that was in the practice space with Alexis and Megan. He walked up to the piano, not entirely sure what he was going to do until he sat down, and his fingers found the chords of an old Bill Withers tune he'd been messing around with lately on the little keyboard in his apartment.

[Kris Allen | Ain't No Sunshine](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Ain_t_No_Sunshine/22812001)

Kris had always hated auditions. He could be self-conscious as a performer; he found it difficult to get over the "me, me, look at me!" aspect of it. Generally the music just took over, flowing through him, and he thought of performing more as sharing that music than as a real grab for attention. (Besides, when he sang his lower jaw did this weird slide to the right, which of course everyone made fun of, and he didn't mind because it wasn't like he could change it, but it did add to his self-consciousness.) Which was why he'd liked busking more than he would have thought; people could listen, or not. He wasn't demanding their attention, just asking for it. And often, he got it. But auditions were different—vague disinterested listening at best, and it was less than professional to get _too_ lost in the music.

When he finished, he sat back from the keys and ran a hand through his hair. He probably hadn't quite hit that last note, but that was what practice was for. He didn't expect the silence, but when he looked over to the bar they were all just sort of staring at him. He rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Um, I can do something else if you want," he said.

"Kris, that was amazing," Adam said, and his eyes were wide.

"Yeah, I'll clap for that," David said, and the others joined in.

Kris hoped he wasn't blushing, because that would be a silly reaction. "Thanks," he said, turning around on the piano bench to face them squarely. He noticed Alexis and Megan, and realized they must have come back upstairs while he was singing.

"We're having a showcase here in a week," Nick said. "Think you can work up a few songs for that, kid?"

"You bet," Kris said, stepping down from the stage to shake Nick's hand.

"Excellent! Done," Nick said, then turned to the girls. "Drama over? Then get to practice!" he said, shooing them out of the room with a brush of his hands.

"Say, Nick," David said, "what's your take on this whole Simon thing?"

"_Well_," Nick said, hopping up on the bar and crossing his legs, "I have to say, I just can't believe it, and with Nigel's product! And they're thick as thieves, or were, so the story goes. I mean, Simon has people who'd love to see him go out, believe _me_, but they'd just trip him in the street. None of them would go to all this trouble." He pulled out a pack of Kool's and offered them to the others before lighting up. "Music business ain't _that_ cutthroat. Not yet anyway."

"Can't think of anyone who might want to?" Adam asked.

Nick shook his head. "And I've been _thinking_. I mean, it ain't me—who else would hire me?" He looked up at the door. "_There_ you are!" he said.

A man with blond curly hair was coming in the door then, tapping the show off his boots. "No thanks to you!" he said.

"Me? I'm not your seeing eye dog, you know," Nick replied.

"Really?" he said, walking over to the bar so smoothly that you wouldn't know he couldn't actually see it. "Because you certainly were a bitch this morning."

"Hello!" Nick sang out. "Ladies present!"

"No, I can hear them practicing," the other man said, slipping off his wool coat to reveal a deep purple shirt.

"Yes, but Lambert _is_ here," Nick said, winking at Adam.

"Hi, Scott," Adam said, chuckling, and moved over to give him a hug.

"Feels like a man to me," Scott said.

"And David Cook is back from traveling the world with his golfer," Nick continued.

"Tennis player," David corrected, greeting Scott.

"And we have a new little one here," Nick said, "named Kris. Killer voice and _cute_ as a button!"

Kris smiled nervously. "I'd shake your hand but …"

"You just wait for me," Scott said, offering his hand.

"Seacrest never seems to grasp that," Nick said. "Grasp! HA!"

Adam turned to David. "We should probably call him, actually."

David nodded and pulled out his cell phone, stepping away from the group slightly.

"How was he this morning?" Kris asked.

Adam shrugged. "I don't think he's slept," he said, "but he was functional. I don't know if I'd be, if I were in his shoes."

"Oh, poor Ryan," Nick said, shaking his head. "Scott, we should send him a fruit basket."

"Already did," Scott said as he made his way to the piano.

David put his hand over his phone. "He wants to take us out to dinner. You guys up for it?"

"Free meal?" Adam asked. "I'm so there."

* * *

[Pizzacato Five | Go Go Dancer](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Go_Go_Dancer/1380374)

"Damn," Ryan said. "That's—that's really surprising. I had no idea. Megan, really?"

David nodded. Ryan had taken them to a private room in some upscale sushi den in the East Village he was thinking of investing in. The decor was the same kind of ironic kitch you could find in a lot of downtown hipster dives, only Japanese—Hello Kitty and her friends were all over the place, old 80s anime played on some TVs in the bar, and Japanese pop music played on the stereo. David was happy to see that the table, while low, had a cut out for his legs, because he didn't like to kneel that much. The platter in the middle of the table was covered with more different kinds of rolls than he had ever seen. But the four of them had still managed to put a good dent in it.

"She's pretty broken up about it," Kris said.

"And frankly, I don't think she's that good an actress," Adam said. "So that's her off the list. Anyone you think we should add, Ryan?"

"No," he replied, "but you should check in with Hernandez after you talk to these people, see where he's at." He looked down at the list. "Wow, I made the list? Kinda makes me feel like a femme fatale."

David looked at Adam and raised one eyebrow, then drew a line through Ryan's name.

"Aww, man!" Ryan said.

"Shoulda kept your mouth shut," Kris said, laughing.

"While we're at it," Adam said, "I think we should take Tatiana, Ramiele and Kristy Lee off, too, now that knowing about that drawer isn't important."

David cocked his head, wondering when the kid had made _that_ decision. "Kinda hasty, don't you think?" David replied.

"No," Adam said. "Ramiele could have easily put those drugs in there herself, and not used Megan at all."

"And then been at the top of the list of suspects, _Adam_."

"Along with half a dozen other people," Adam replied, not without attitude.

Out of the corner of his eye David could see Kris lean over to Ryan and say, "I thought they would get better in time."

"This _is_ better," Ryan replied.

"Well Kristy Lee really has a hate on for Simon," David said, Kris and Ryan's comments making him even more stubborn. "We _have_ to talk to her."

"If you say so."

"And Ramiele we'll see anyway, so there's no harm in slipping in a few questions."

Adam sighed. "Fine, but Tatiana comes off."

"I agree with that. And the dealer, we can stop looking for him."

"No, because the dealer could have set up the whole thing, _David_," Adam said, "since he knows how the system works."

"We got lucky with Megan," David said. "How are we going to find a mysterious dealer who can float a week of income?"

"Guys?" Ryan said. "Don't you already know him?"

David looked at Adam, and then back at Ryan. "We do?"

"A trust fund kid who deals drugs because he's in love with that thug lifestyle?" Ryan continued, using his fingers to mark "thug" with scare quotes.

"Oh, of course," Adam said.

"Why didn't we think of that before?" David asked.

"Wait, who?" Kris asked.

David turned to him. "Anoop. So there's someone to add to the list."

"Well, he'll show up at Idol sooner or later," Adam said.

"Speaking of which," Kris said, "I need to get to work."

"Oh yeah," Adam said. "Me too."

They all got up then, thanking Ryan for the meal, shaking his hand, and he smiled broadly and said it was his pleasure.

And then when the three of them were on the street, Kris said, "Did y'all notice that Ryan didn't eat anything?"

David hadn't, and Adam's "Huh," indicated he hadn't either. "Well," Adam went on, "Ryan's kinda manorexic under the best of circumstances, so I dunno. I'm willing to cut him some slack."

"Yeah, if Mike were in trouble? I don't know if I'd be as focussed as Ryan is. I'd probably be all over the place." He glanced at his watch. "I should see what he's doing, actually. Adam, what time tomorrow?"

"God, something _human_. Noon?"

"The Kiev?"

"Sounds good."

David nodded and went off in the direction of the apartment, breaking into a run as soon as he was around the corner. It was kinda high school, but somehow he didn't want Adam Lambert to see him literally running to see his boyfriend, especially after the whole thing with Lacey teaching him how to move. One humiliating revelation a day was enough.

At home, Mike was watching TV, a notebook in his hand. David craned his neck around to see the screen, and of course, it was some tennis match on the VCR. He had that same serious, concentrating expression he got when he was practicing before a match, and David could just about eat him with cream.

He kicked off his shoes and tried to act cool. "Where's the kid?"

"Carly took him to dinner and then AGT," he replied.

"So we have the place to ourselves for a while?" David asked, sinking down on the couch next to Mike.

"Yep," he replied, wrapping his arm around David's shoulders while not taking his eyes off the video. "Any ideas on what you want to do?" he asked.

"I'm sure I can come up with _something_." David put his head on Mike's chest. His heart beat and the slow rise and fall of his breathing were soothing, even though David hadn't known he needed to be soothed, not really. He wrapped an arm around Mike's waist.

Mike looked down at David. "Hey, what's all this?" he asked.

"Nothing," David said. He looked up. "Don't go getting into trouble."

Mike smiled at him, carding a hand through his hair. "I won't," he said, and kissed him.

* * *

[Sly and the Family Stone | You Can Make It If You Try](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/You_Can_Make_It_If_You_Try/281795)

Kris's set up at Idol went pretty much as usual—soda loaded in the basement, plenty of beer, double check the stock of flavored vodkas that went down like water with the dancers. Blake was playing old music that he loved but didn't bring the dancers—today, Sly and the Family Stone—which always put the staff in a good mood. Still, it was eerie to have only Chris Richardson wandering around double checking, not Simon in his black t-shirt, cigarette hanging from his lips, peering at them all suspiciously. Chris was mostly up in the office and buzzing around the margins, leaving Matt Giraud, the assistant manager, to do Chris's usual job of taking care of the set up and watching over service. Tonight Kris was working the main bar alongside Jason Castro, and Kris liked how laid back he was, which made for a fun, relaxing night. Adam had gone home to change after dinner and was now sitting atop a bar stool in full regalia—makeup, platform boots, leather trousers, some kind of sparkly vest—flipping through the latest _Village Voice_ and reading aloud the personal ads that amused him.

"God, _why_ are there so many ads for 'straight-acting' men?" he asked with a shake of his head.

"Maybe they just want someone to watch football with?" Jason asked.

"You know who's a huge sports fan?" Adam asked. "Ryan Seacrest. He has like, all the sports channels on satellite and watches basketball and football and all that shit. And he is pretty far from 'straight-acting.' So I'm not thinking they're the same thing."

"What about Kris?" Jason asked. "He's pretty straight-acting."

"No I'm not," Kris said. "Am I?"

"Compared to Adam," Jason said.

"Compared to Adam _Nick_ is straight-acting," Matt said, hopping up on the seat near Adam.

"Oh thanks for that," Adam said. "Kris isn't straight-acting; Kris is Kris-acting."

Kris smiled. "Thanks!" he said, and felt suddenly aligned to the guy.

"Besides," Adam went on, "he isn't _looking_ for someone straight-acting. Are you, Kris?"

Kris was a little flustered; he wasn't sure what the right answer was here. He wasn't even entirely sure what straight-acting was, other than the obvious. "Um, no," he said. "I just want people to act like themselves, y'know? I want Adam to be Adam-acting."

"He sure is that," Matt said, earning himself a swat on the head with the rolled-up _Voice_.

"Thank you, _Kris_," Adam said.

Matt said, "Well, I think most of those guys looking for straight-acting guys are just serious closet cases with a lot of baggage. Who needs that?"

"Speaking of closet cases," Adam said, "is your boyfriend Anoop gonna be here tonight?" Kris was impressed at how casual Adam sounded.

"He isn't my boyfriend," Matt said, "and you know he's straight. I don't think so, why? You need something?"

"No, no," Adam said. "Just wondering."

At that moment the side door burst open and a woman in an ill-fitting bright blue coat walked in, talking very fast. "Oh my goodness!" she said, speaking with a slight Spanish accent. "That poor Mr. Cowell, I just heard. Is he going to be all right?" As she walked toward the boys at the bar, she removed her accessories and flung them over her shoulder, leaving a trail of warm knits behind her on the floor.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Matt said. "He has people working for him."

"Oh that's good," the girl replied. "Hello boys!"

"Hello, Tatiana," they all replied. She was the only daughter of Simon's landlord—some sugar magnate from Puerto Rico who'd put his money into Manhattan real estate back in the early 80s when it was very cheap. The Idol staff humored her, which wasn't difficult as she so rarely listened to anything anyone said anyway; she was too busy talking.

Adam had returned to flipping through the _Voice_ and Jason had wandered off to the other side of the bar. Matt, meanwhile, picked up her discarded items and put them on the bar. Since no one else was talking to her, Kris felt bound to do so. "What's going on, Tatiana?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just wanted to see what is going on _here_!" She took off her coat and laid it across the stool next to Adam, and it promptly slid off and landed in a pool at his feet. "I just wanted to come and see if I could be any help?" She was wearing a sparkly top with a tulle skirt, which made her look like a disco ballerina.

"Help with what?" Kris asked, noticing that Matt had beat a hasty retreat.

"Oh, with anything," she said. "I mean, it must be so shocking, Mr. Cowell and all those drugs in his desk!"

Adam looked up then. "Tatiana, none of us think that they're _his_," he said.

"Of course not!" she said, "but it's still shocking, that someone would put them there! And poor Mr. Cowell in jail and all! It must be so upsetting for him!"

"I'm sure it is," Kris said dryly.

"I heard, that people are asking questions, and you're one of them, aren't you Adam?"

"Yeah," Adam said, "but he has lawyers and private investigators, too. There's plenty of people helping."

She smiled in that funny, calculating way she had—Kris didn't think she did anything that wasn't calculated, which was probably why she was so off-putting—and stroked Adam's arm. "Don't you have any questions for _me_?" she asked. "After all, I did work for Mr. Cowell once."

Adam cocked his head, and Kris could see he was trying to decide if it was worth it to humor her. "Okay," he said. "Since you were his office girl, you know how to open that secret drawer, right?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "He kept his cigarettes in the drawer, and one of my jobs was to keep it fully stocked. Very important!"

Kris thought for a moment of Cowell deprived of his nicotine fix, and shuddered.

"Did you ever tell anyone else how to get into the drawer?" he asked. "Think hard, now. It's okay if you did; no one would blame you."

Tatiana's eyes went wide. "Oh, but of course I didn't!" she said. "I would never do that!"

"And where were you last night?" Adam asked.

"I was babysitting for a friend," she said.

"So there you go," Adam said. "No further questions."

"Did I help?" she asked.

"Of course you did," Adam said, returning his attention to the _Voice_.

"Still, poor Mr. Cowell. Perhaps I could send him a fruit basket!"

"I don't think they let you send fruit baskets to Riker's," Adam replied without looking up.

"Maybe you can write him a letter," Kris suggested, smiling at her.

Her eyes flew wide open. "Oh Kris, you have the best suggestions!" she said, leaning over the bar to hug him and nearly spilling out of her dress. "Oh and you too, Adam," she said, and hugged him as well.

"Thanks, Tatiana," Kris said.

"Oh, it's Blake, I must talk to Blake. Blake! Blake!" She ran off in some other direction.

"God, that girl is a _nightmare_," Adam said.

Kris leaned in closer to Adam, so no one else would hear, and muttered, "Why'd you ask her those questions? We already know—"

"Yeah, but no one else knows that, and anyway, I just wanted to get her off our backs."

Kris cocked his head. "After bitching to David Cook that you wanted her off that list?"

"Yeah, well," Adam said, "maybe that _was_ hasty." He looked up at Kris, and they shared a smile.

"Hey," Jason said, rejoining them from the other side of the bar, "what are you two whispering about, huh?"

"Oh," Adam said, "just Tatiana."

"At least she's gone," Jason said.

"Yeah, no thanks to _you_," Adam said.

"I think you guys are being ridiculous," Kris said. "She's just a girl. Sure she's kinda loud and mixed up, but she's a good kid."

"Whatever," Jason said. "She caused some trouble for Ramiele when she started working with Cowell. Didn't want to give up the job, all that. Didn't even do it that well, so I don't know why she wanted it. Wouldn't her dad make Cowell let her sing anyway, since it's his building?"

"You'd think," Adam replied. "But have you ever seen her sing?"

Kris hadn't, but Jason shook his head. "Too much," he said. "All of it too much, and she never listened to Cowell anyway."

"But she's harmless," Kris said.

"Yeah," Adam said, "I just wish she weren't so _annoying_."

Kris rolled his eyes; he really didn't think being annoying or uncool was the crime that these fellas clearly thought it was. But then Matt came over, clapping his hands.

"Plan on working tonight, ladies?" he asked. "Adam, time to go to the door."

Adam scowled, and set the _Voice_ aside. "I'm going," he said, giving Kris a smile and a little wink just before he left.

Jason shook his head. "Man, that Adam, he's a trip, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Kris said, "he certainly is."

* * *

[Erykah Badu | On &amp; On](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/On_and_On/23034976)

For once, Ryan was glad that Simon smoked. The rules concerning appropriate gifts for the inmates at Riker's Island were long and confusing, but cigarettes were on the list, so Ryan was on his way with two cartons of Kools under his arm. He'd made a personal reservation with his usual MTV driver to get him out to the island—a ridiculous trip that consisted of going first to Queens, and then taking some side road west again onto this tiny island in the East River. He had to leave everything in the car, including his cell phone, and then get on a bus with the other visitors to get to the prison. He just hoped that the stubble, sunglasses and baseball cap were enough of a disguise from any MTV watchers that might be on the bus.

Everything was inspected—the gifts, his person, even his shoes. The visiting room was sterile, which he'd expected from the movies. They were filed in to some folding chairs, and told that they couldn't touch the prisoners during the visit or it would be immediately terminated. This was fine with Ryan—he was doing all he could not to give too much away, as he didn't want to cause Simon any problems. Certainly the other men didn't need to know that he was Simon's lover. He looked around and saw elderly mothers and small children and everything in between, and was glad that they hadn't told any of Simon's family about his problems quite yet.

After about twenty minutes the prisoners came in, and Ryan had to keep himself from smiling too broadly when he saw Simon. He actually didn't look too horrible—circles under his eyes for sure, and entirely generic clothing, but other than that it was hard to tell.

"Hello," he said, in that purring way he had, and Ryan didn't really know what to do.

"I, um, I brought you these," he said, handing him the cartons. "That should last you until the arraignment anyway."

"More than enough," Simon said, smiling. "And you know, a lot of the boys in here smoke these. I had no idea they were so popular in Harlem."

"Do prisoners still trade cigarettes on some kind of black market?" Ryan asked.

"Actually, yes," Simon said, "so you may have purchased me an extra phone call, or shaving cream."

Ryan nodded. "Glad to be of help." He paused, fidgeting a little, then asked, "How are you, really?"

"I'll be fine when I leave," he said, "and I'm okay now."

"But—"

Simon held up his hand. "Don't worry about me. I'm getting all the updates from Hernandez," he said. "I don't want to talk about any of that here. This time is too precious."

"Um, okay," Ryan said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"First, please tell me you've been taking care of yourself," he said, "and this stubble is just a disguise."

Ryan let himself smile then, just a little. "Some people like it when I haven't shaved in a while," Ryan said.

"Mmm, I suppose," Simon replied. "So, tell me about your days. Pretend this is the club and you've just wandered in, or whathaveyou."

"So that's what you want, just normal?"

"Ryan," he said, low, "I really just want to sit here and be able to stare at you. I don't care what you say."

"Oh," Ryan said, blushing. "Um, okay. I can do that."

And so they just gossiped, about new records coming out and various bright lights in the New York media scene, about what Ryan had put on MTV News that day and what was too much of a rumor but too juicy to keep to himself, and it really was like just being out to dinner, not as difficult to hide the true nature of their relationship here as it was anyplace else. Not that Ryan truly forgot where he was; the room was too full of other people's conversations. But it was easy to focus on the man in front of him and not think about the rest.

In the bus on the way back to the parking lot the radio was on, that new singer Erykah Badu that Simon liked so much. _Oh what a day, what a day, what a day._ Ryan felt suddenly exhausted, and wondered if it was all the lack of sleep finally catching up to him, though it had never really been a problem before. He pulled his hat down lower, and hoped he could keep back the tears at least until he was in the car.


	4. A Few Red Herrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Club kid detectives Adam and David have some more suspects to question. Then Simon asks Adam and Kris to take on a different kind of special assignment.

[Duncan Sheik | Out of Order](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Out_Of_Order/261654)

This is how it happened:

Kris and Katy had gone to have dinner with some college friends who had recently gotten engaged. With all of seven months under their belts, Kris and Katy were the old marrieds of their friends and so were often asked for advice. This night was no exception, though Kris wasn't sure what kind of advice he could really give to anyone else, as his success was mostly "marry the pretty girl you met at 15 because she's damn near perfect and seems willing to put up with your sorry ass and call you on your shit when necessary." But it had been a little weird because the other couple were so all over each other, and then the woman asked if it stopped when you were married, and Kris and Katy just looked at each other, because they'd never been like that.

And even that wouldn't have been a big deal, except that the week before Katy had found Kris's stash, and had freaked out when she saw that most of the mags were male. Kris didn't see what the issue was, because he was happily committed to Katy, and didn't think it really mattered who he was fantasizing about in his non-Katy time, because all of them were equally inaccessible, and reminded her of the time she had a little too much to drink at a frat party and kissed a sorority sister of hers. Which was fine, because she'd told him about it at the time, and it was just a kiss so whatever—Kris had mostly been annoyed that other men got to see Katy kiss a girl and he hadn't—but he hadn't so much as touched a guy.

So the ride home from that particular dinner was pretty damned awkward. Finally Kris said, "You know, your parents aren't all over each other all the time."

"Yours are," she said.

"Yeah, well, my parents are different. Most people's daddies don't cry at the drop of a hat, either."

"Yeah," she said.

"And we touch plenty. I mean, we're always touching, you know, holding hands and such."

"Yeah," she said.

"I just don't think we should put too much stock into—"

"Do you ever think about me when you masturbate, Kris?" she asked.

"What?" he said, and almost ran the car off the road. "What? Of course I do. I always have. I mean, those mags are just for sometimes—"

"Do you ever feel like you just can't wait to get home to have sex with me?"

"I, well, sure," he said, though he wasn't sure when, but he had to have, at some point. And there were those days when he was just really horny, so that had to count.

"Because I don't," she said. "I don't feel like that about you, about us."

"Oh," Kris said, and his first thought was that he couldn't believe this was happening in their _car_ and couldn't she have waited until they got home?

"I'm sorry," she said, softly.

"No, I mean, don't be sorry," he replied. He leaned his elbow against the window and propped his head up with his hand. "I want you to tell me the truth about things. Just, um …"

"What?"

"How do you know? Like, that you don't feel that way? How do you know?"

Katy smiled a little and cocked her head. "Because I've felt that way about other people," she said. "Other men."

Kris kept his eyes on the road, trying to keep breathing. The stereo in the car was playing: _it may be unwise, you may be right, but I don't mind_

"They were just crushes," she said. "Nothing like how I feel about you. You've had them too, I know you have because you told me."

And he had. One of his fellow travelers on the mission to South Africa, this fella from South Dakota, who was just so cool that he couldn't stop writing to Katy about him, wanted to be around him all the time, and okay, so he'd thought about what it would be _like_ to kiss him, but he never even thought about doing anything because, Katy. And he figured since Katy was still in his head, even when that guy was there, that Katy really was more important.

"Okay, so I have," Kris said, "but I never stopped thinking about you."

"I know," she said. "And—look, I meant all the things I've ever said. You're my best friend; I want to have your children; I want to grow old with you. But what if—what if we can have this _and_ that?"

"But with someone else," Kris said.

"Yeah," Katy said, sadly. "With someone else."

They didn't say anything more that night, just lay in bed holding each other, clinging really. They made love at some point, but it was just part of the hugging, like it always was, satisfying on some deep level that was more about connection than passion. Katy made tea and they watched the sunrise together, wrapped in a blanket, then showered and ate and went to church like always.

The next few weeks were a blur of prayer and tears, as they talked to their pastor, to each other, and finally to their families. They might have gotten an annulment—Katy could have claimed that Kris didn't tell her he was attracted to men—except that wasn't really true; Katy had always known everything. And Katy was firm that whatever Kris's sexuality was, it wasn't why they were separating. "I don't care," she said, "I'm not going to let you take that bullet."

But outside the immediate family, the story was that they were too young, that they had doubts. They'd been working hard, putting money away so they could move to New York or Los Angeles, for Kris's music and Katy's acting, and the exchanged wedding gifts (so many of them still in boxes) added to that fund. At Thanksgiving they went up to New York to find a place for Kris; Katy was headed for LA and a shared apartment with a sorority sister. But in a last spurt of wifeliness, she wanted to see Kris settled in personally.

So they spent their last New Year's Eve in the now-empty apartment, eating barbeque and drinking beer and toasting to 1996. In the morning, they got in the car for one last road trip, leaving Arkansas, and their marriage, behind.

* * *

[Luscious Jackson | Strong Man](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Strong_Man/1920608)

_23 February 1996_

Ramiele Malubuy was an adorable little bundle of energy in a hat. She was also incredibly efficient, leading some to wonder if Simon would give her up as an assistant in order to help her singing career. Her predecessor Kristy Lee Cook would probably say no, but Kelly Clarkson was on the radio now, and she'd been one of his first assistants-turned-proteges. Ramiele mostly worked out of Simon's office at Club Idol, so David and Adam met up with her there. Chris and Blake were there, too, Chris in the office with Ramiele while Blake stood in the booth playing some Luscious Jackson track Adam vaguely recognized: _I will call him supersolid_.

"I've made you boys appointments with Paula and Councilman Gokey," she said. "Is there anyone else?"

"I don't think so," Adam replied. "But thanks."

"Anything to help," she said.

"Did you notice anything strange that day?" he asked. "You were here in the afternoon weren't you?"

"I was. Pretty normal day, mostly. Helped him with some paperwork for the accountant, then I headed over to AGT after dinner."

David nodded. "Chris, did you?" he asked.

"Well," he said, "after you left Simon realized he only had one pack of cigs left and turned into a real bear."

"Oh, _that's_ why he was so pissy?" Adam asked.

"Yeah. Ryan ended up bringing him a whole carton when he came down to the club that night."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Ramiele said. "I filled that drawer Tuesday, before we all went over to AGT."

David nodded; Tuesday night Club Idol was dark. "Could he have gone through them or given them away?" he asked.

"Five cartons?" she asked.

"How does the drawer work, anyway?" Adam asked.

"Here, I'll show you," Ramiele said, walking over to the desk. It was a large, heavy wooden desk with drawers on both sides and a full panel in the front. Ramiele opened the second drawer on the right side, then felt along the inside top of the drawer. "There's a latch on the underside, right here."

Adam reached in and felt where she had said, and the drawer in the middle—which merely looked like part of the desk's very solid top—sprung open. It was a shallow drawer, about ten inches wide, and not much more than a foot long.

"Wow," David said, walking over to inspect the drawer. "That drug package barely fit." Chris stood on the other side of the desk, looking on.

"Just deep enough for cigarettes," Adam said.

"So whoever tipped off the cops told them how to open the drawer," Adam said.

"Well, obviously," David said, "since we watched them open it."

Adam rolled his eyes but held his tongue. "Thanks, Ramiele," he said. "So, Chris who was here that day?"

"Well," Chris said, thinking, "it was mostly just the folks who were working. I opened up around noon because there was a delivery coming in, but Simon came in a little after that with Ramiele here, and we all worked until around seven, when we broke for staff dinner and Ramiele left for AGT. Simon made some phone calls before joining us, and that's when he mentioned that he was running out of Kools. You were at dinner, Adam, so you know as well as I do who was here."

"Who other than you has keys?" David asked.

"Simon—well, Ryan has those now—Matt, and the landlord," he replied. "Why?"

David shrugged. "Just seems like the kind of question we should be asking," he said, then turned to Adam. "We should probably go now."

"Yeah," Adam replied, picking up his jacket. "Thanks, guys."

* * *

[Jewel | Who Will Save Your Soul](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Who_Will_Save_Your_Soul/14473566)

Councilman Daniel Gokey had an office in City Hall, luckily, so Adam and David didn't need to go all the way out to Brooklyn to see him. He was quite young, good looking in the manner of a teacher or perhaps a little league coach, but he had the easy, vacant smile of the politician.

"I tell you," he said, finally sitting down after offering them coffee, tea, a soft drink, hard candy, a sandwich, and some chocolate, all of which they declined, "you coulda knocked me right over when I heard about Mr. Cowell. I know we've had our differences, but he was always so firm about keeping drugs out of his club, which I appreciated. I never dreamed he had a friend who actually dealt those drugs, nor that he did them himself."

Adam balled his hands into fists, to keep from rolling his eyes. "About those differences, Councilman—" Adam said.

"Please," he said, smiling again, "call me Danny."

"Uh, Danny—the way I understand it, you had put forth a bill for tighter noise restrictions?"

Gokey's mouth flattened into a firm line. "I feel it's important for the good working people of this city, no matter what neighborhood they live in, to be able to go to sleep at a decent hour, without worrying about loud music, or folks out on the streets hollering under their windows. So I wanted to keep the current law but move it forward just a few hours."

"From three am to midnight," Adam said.

"Yes, because good working people are asleep by then," Gokey replied.

"Except the ones who work in restaurants and night clubs," David said.

"Yes, well," Gokey said, "after I introduced that bill, and got a good bit of support from my friends representing Staten Island and Astoria and the like, a few folks explained to me the importance of the cabaret business to both tourism and the overall economics of the city."

"And Simon Cowell gave you the use of Club Idol," Adam said.

"Well," Gokey said, smiling again, "Mr. Cowell was one of those people doing the explaining. And in those discussions we got to talking about how to do good for this city, all the volunteer work that gets done, and I mentioned my own charity, and he was very receptive."

"I'm sure he was," David said.

Gokey turned and picked up a framed photograph from the credenza behind his desk. "My wife Sophia. She died a few years ago."

"I'm very sorry," Adam said, though he, and anyone else who'd ever heard of Gokey, had heard this story before.

"Nearly wrecked my life," Gokey said. "But then a friend suggested that I take all that pain and use it for good, you know, keep moving forward? And I'd been working on local projects in Bay Ridge, through my church and all, so running for city council was the next logical step, and here I am." He put the photo back. "Mr. Cowell was very responsive to my story—he's a good man, deep down, I think—and when he heard that I'd created this charity in her name, Sophia's Heart, he was more than happy to oblige with his lovely space and staff for a fundraising event."

Adam remembered that night—he'd ditched the platforms and the makeup, refusing to be on display for a bunch of bridge-and-tunnel fat cats wanting to check out the club kid freak show who otherwise never went below 14th street. Jewel floated out of the little clock radio on Gokey's desk—_who will save your souls if you won't save your own_—and Adam figured that the night of the benefit was the first time Gokey had ever been in a club. "So you let the bill die," he said.

"As I said, the arguments against it were persuasive," Gokey said, shrugging. "But God works in mysterious ways, because while I still miss Sophia, that very night her spirit guided me to the wonderful young lady that I'm lucky enough to still be seeing."

"Really?" Adam asked.

"Yes, I think she knows both of you," Gokey replied. "Kristy Lee Cook?"

"Huh," David said.

* * *

[Des'ree | You Gotta Be](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/You_Gotta_Be/431817)

Kristy Lee Cook worked at a diner on Houston, just at the edges of the lower east side. It was about two-thirty when they got there, the afternoon lull, so they just sat at the counter. She was pretty, with long legs and long yellow hair, and a little bitchy—in other words, just the sort of girl who appealed to Simon Cowell. She was refilling ketchup bottles and singing along to the radio—_challenge what the future holds, try and keep your head up_—and broke into a wide grin when she saw David. "I heard you were back," she said, giving him a hug over the counter.

"And I heard you left," David said. "What happened?"

Kristy Lee scowled as she poured coffee for the two men. "What happened? Nothing happened! We can't all be Simon's favorites like you two are."

"Come on, now, Simon always liked you, or he wouldn't have had you working for him," David said.

"Liked how I _looked_, you mean," she replied. "Not so much how I sounded, or the kinds of songs I wanted to sing. We all know he hates country."

"He did great things for Carrie," Adam pointed out.

"Yeah, well, Carrie was better at using him than I am," Kristy Lee said. "And he was always comparing me to her, and I couldn't measure up. I'm not a good Carrie, but I'm a damned good Kristy Lee."

"Of course you are," David said.

Kristy Lee frowned again. "So when I met Danny at that party, I just—I realized what it was like to have someone value you, instead of belittle you." She bit her lip. "He's not a very nice man."

"Who, Gokey?" Adam asked.

"No, _Simon Cowell_," she said, shaking her head. "Danny Gokey is a very _good_ man who's doing amazing things for this city, and he's only getting started. You'll see."

"The benefit was in September," Adam said, "and you've been seeing him ever since?"   
"Yeah," she said, smiling now. "He's just been wonderful, really wonderful. He gave me the strength to get myself out from under Simon's thumb, and now I've been doing all of this work with his charity, and I feel so free now."

David smiled at her, and put his hand over hers. "I'm glad," he said, "but are you singing?"

She looked away. "No, I haven't been. Not lately."

They were silent for a moment, then Adam said, "So, what are your thoughts on this mess Simon's in now?"

She looked up, quick, her eyes flashing. "I think if you lay down with dogs you're gonna get up with fleas, is what I think."

"You think the drugs were his?" David asked.

"Actually, no," she replied. "He never did drugs while I worked for him, don't know why he'd start now, and he was serious about the no drugs in the club. But that Nigel—I'm just sorry someone who's supposed to be his old friend would do him such a bad turn."

"Do you know what it is that Simon has on Nigel?" Adam asked.

"No," she replied. "I don't think anyone does, except maybe Ryan. It isn't something he tells his assistants or managers, if that's what you're asking."

David cocked his head. "Didn't you date Anoop for a while?"

"Yeah, but that was a big mistake," she said, smiling ruefully. "He was flashy, and funny, and I fell for it. Lots of girls do. Not many stick around, though."

David leaned in close, and asked, low, "Did he ever tell you anything about Nigel's organization?"

Kristy Lee shrugged. "Not really. Took me to get the stuff once—what was that, some zombie box or something?"

"Dead drop," David said. "He took you to his dead drop?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'd heard a woman leave a message on his machine and I got jealous, so he took me there to prove that nothing was going on."

"Jesus," Adam said, shaking his head. "It's like he thinks he's in a movie or something."

"What do you mean?" Kristy Lee asked.

"If Nigel ever found out?" Adam said. "Anoop would be in the kind of trouble I don't think he can handle."

"Wow," she said. "I never thought about it."

"Have you seen him lately?" David asked.

"Of course not," Kristy Lee said. "I can't date a councilman and be hanging around with dealers."

"True." David looked down at his watch. "Okay, we need to go, but look, just, think about coming back to Idol? Maybe? I know Simon left you an open door, and he could use the friends right now."

Kristy Lee sighed. "I'll think about it."

* * *

[Mariah Carey | Always Be My Baby](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/You_will_Always_be_my_baby/6340051)

Paula Adbul lived in TriBeCa, in one of those old industrial buildings that had been turned into expensive loft condos. "I liked being able to control my own space," she said as she gave David and Adam the tour. "I have a dance studio right in the middle of the apartment, so whenever inspiration strikes, I can take advantage of it! It makes working on all these shows so much easier!"

"How many do you have up on Broadway right now?" Adam asked.

"One now, one just closed, one coming in April—and I'm very excited about a new project I can't talk about quite yet." She squealed.

"You're quite the in-demand choreographer, Paula," David said.

"Well, it never rains but it pours!" she said. "And by the way, if either of you ever want me to put in a good word—"

They shook their heads. "I'm doing the rocker thing right now," David said.

"Me too," Adam replied.

Paula shrugged. "Musical theater's loss, then," she said, settling them in her living room, which was decorated in shades of brown, with a few Cherokee red pillows here and there. Mariah Carey was playing on a Bose radio in the corner. "So," she said, "I guess you're here about Simon?"

"Yeah," David said.

"Well, I for one just can't believe it," she said. "I can't believe that Nigel, I don't know what he's thinking."

"How well do you know Nigel?" Adam asked.

"We would see him from time to time," she said. "When I was with Simon, Nigel wasn't as big time as he is now. He was still working his way up. So things were a little more dangerous."

"That was back in the eighties?"

"Simon and I finally split up in '89," she said, "but really, we led separate lives from about '85 on, and we were never that romantic to begin with. But I also knew Nigel because when he first got here he was still a choreographer."

"Did you dance for him?" Adam asked.

"A lot of people danced for him," she said. "Oh, of course you don't know. He came over to the US with _Cats_, and worked with all the replacement dancers."

"So why did he start dealing drugs?" David asked.

"I don't know," Paula said. "Simon said something once that implied that he'd been selling them back in London, but Simon was always very close-mouthed where Nigel was concerned so I never got anything more out of him."

"But that's why he uses all those dancers, in his organization," David said.

Paula shook her head. "He thinks it's a good thing," she said. "Dancers have such a short time to really dance, and he is very stern about not allowing any of his people to use anything he's selling. I don't know how he does that, given how much of it is around all the time, but there it is. He thinks he's giving them some money, a flexible job for when they aren't getting parts. But there must be something better. And some choreographers, if they know a dancer has worked with Nigel they won't hire them."

"Really?" Adam said. "Does that include you?"

"No, actually," Paula replied. "But I know Nigel, so that's different. And he's training a lot of good choreographers now, and that plus all the people who'd worked with him on _Cats_ will probably mean that this particular prejudice will go away." She smiled. "That is, if he doesn't end up in jail, and bring the rest of them down with him."

"Think Simon will turn over on Nigel?" David asked.

"Not a chance," Paula said. "He's a stubborn old bastard, but he's also loyal."

"Know anyone who'd have it in for him" Adam asked.

"Not really. Not me anyway—my alimony would stop!" She laughed, slapping her knee. "But seriously, I can't think of anyone. Business rivals maybe, but I don't think any of them know about the lease. Maybe the landlord?"

"The lease?" David asked.

"Oh, I would have thought Hernandez would have told you about that," she said. "The lease on the Idol space is why I got such a big settlement, because Simon couldn't let me tell the truth in court. Not just about Ryan, but whatever else was going on."

"Paula, what do you mean?" Adam asked.

"Sorry! I never can tell a story from the beginning," she said. "There's an ethics clause in the lease. Del Toro is a real stickler, so Simon can't be up to any kind of funny business and keep the space. I'm not sure of the extent of it, but I know he couldn't let me accuse him of adultery in the divorce."

"Wow," David said. "Well, clearly just being arrested isn't enough, or something already would have happened."

Paula shrugged. "You'd have to ask Hernandez." Her phone rang. "Excuse me, won't you?" she said, and walked into a smaller room off the living room.

"Jeez," Adam whispered to David.

"Wonder why Hernandez didn't tell us," David replied.

Paula stepped into the room. "Adam, it's for you."

Adam walked over to her—the small room was actually an office, the desk covered with photos of Paula with various people, including one of her, Simon, Ryan, and Randy Jackson. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Kris. I've been looking all over for you. You need to come down to the club."

"Why?" he asked, picking up a photo of Paula with a pretty brunette he could have sworn he'd seen before. "I don't have to be at work for another couple of hours."

"Yeah, but Chris Richardson called," Kris said, "and they need you and me to do something else? I don't know, he wasn't very clear on the phone about it."

"Where are you right now?" Adam asked.

"I'm driving down the West Side Highway," Kris replied. "I was giving a lesson on the Upper West Side."

"If I give you directions to Paula's can you pick us up?" Adam asked.

"I can do that," Kris said.

Adam did so. When he hung up, he saw that Paula was in the doorway. "Who is this?" he asked, indicating the photo.

"Oh, an old friend of mine," she said, putting the photo back quickly. "We roomed together briefly after my divorce, when she was in law school."

"You've got friends all over the place, don't you?" Adam asked, smiling.

"That I do," Paula said.

* * *

[Oasis | Wonderwall](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Wonderwall/14525171)

Kris drove up to the front of the condo ten minutes later, and Adam and David climbed in. "Damn this car is clean," David said.

"Thanks," Kris said.

"Hey, see that girl?" Adam asked, pointing to a blonde woman in a red dress standing across the street.

"Yeah?" David asked.

"I swear, I thought I saw her when we were at City Hall," he said.

"Well, we're not far from there now," David replied. "So it's possible."

"What did you guys find out today?" Kris asked.

"A lot? Nothing? I don't know," Adam said.

"There's something funny about the lease, that's one thing."

"Yeah, if you can drop me off at the A train up here," David said. "I called Hernandez from Paula's and he said he'd talk to me tonight if I go right up there."

"Cool," Kris said.

"Rich didn't say what he wanted?" Adam asked.

Kris looked up in the rear view mirror, where he could see Adam folded up in the back seat. "Nope," he replied. "Just to come to the club."

They dropped David off, who promised to check in as soon as he could, and then went to Idol. Inside, they found Chris sitting with Giuliana Rancic, who co-hosted MTV News with Ryan. Kris had seen her in the club a few times, but had never met her. She was pretty, with brown hair and big eyes and a heart-shaped face.

"Adam!" she said, giving him a hug. "And you must be Kris Allen?"

"Yes ma'am," he said.

"Ma'am! I'm not _that_ old!" she said, slapping him on the shoulder. "You sound like Ryan!"

"I didn't mean it like that!" Kris protested.

"Sure," Giuliana said, but she didn't sound like she believed him. "Anyway, I'm here because Simon called me today, and he's worried about Ryan."

"Oh?" Adam asked.

"Surprise surprise, he's not taking care of himself," she said. "He can hide it at work, but—"

"But you can't hide anything from Simon," Adam finished.

"At least, Ryan can't, and he visited Simon this morning and kinda freaked him out," she said. "So he asked that you two get over there as soon as you can."

"Um, I think we're both on shift tonight," Kris said.

"Don't worry about that," Chris Richardson said. "We've got people covering for both of you."

"The door?" Adam asked.

"Actually, we got an old friend of the club," he said, nodding to the front door which was just opening then.

"Hey guys," said Kristy Lee Cook.

"Welcome back," Chris said.

"Thanks," she said, smiling shyly.

Giuliana turned to the boys. "Plan on staying at least through Monday," she said. "It'll probably take the whole weekend to get him back on track. Here's some money for groceries, and his extra keys," she said, handing them to Kris. "He'll be at MTV until about eight, so you need to be settled in before then."

"And then we ambush him or something?" Adam asked. "I mean, this is kinda weird."

"Just make sure he's eating right," she said. "And working out, and shaving, and keeping the place clean, and all of that. You know how he gets, and I don't like it when he's alone too much. He starts texting everyone all the time."

"Well, I'll have to go to Brooklyn to get my things," Kris said. He turned to Adam. "Wanna take a ride?"

Adam smiled. "Love to."

* * *

Kris's apartment was as small, tidy, and empty as his car. He shrugged off the guitar strapped to his back and indicated that Adam sit on the stool in front of the electronic keyboard. Kris then bent over to reach under his futon.

Adam stared at Kris's ass—what did Kris care, he was looking the other way—and then as he pulled out a backpack turned quickly to the large CD rack next to him. "Guess you like singer-songwriters," he said.

"Well, that's what I am, ideally," Kris said, opening his closet.

"Lots of ladies, too."

Kris shoved a pair of jeans into his backpack, hesitated, then followed with some army green twill pants. "I like singing songs by girls."

"Hmm, k.d.lang, Melissa Etheridge, Indigo Girls. I hate to say it, but you're not a gay man."

"No?" Kris asked, folding long-sleeved plaid shirts and putting them in the bag.

"No, Kris Allen, _you_ are a lesbian. You even have the plaid shirts!"

He snickered. "Shut up!" he said.

Adam looked at the photo on top of the case. "This your sister?" he asked, indicating the pretty blonde girl.

Kris turned from the dresser, t-shirts in hand. "No, that's, um, Katy," he said. "My ex-wife."

"Oh," Adam said. "Right. So you're still … close?"

"Yeah, I mean, she's my best friend," Kris replied. "Only now I guess she's my what, my fag hag?"

"She's not sore about the whole gay thing?" Adam asked.

Kris was shoving boxers and socks into his bag atop the t-shirts. "That isn't really why we split up," he said, "so no, she's not."

"Huh," Adam said, not sure what Kris could possibly mean by that. "She's back in Arkansas?"

"No, she went to LA after she helped me move here," he said, pulling sweaters out of the bottom drawer. "She's an actress. She just got a Crest commercial, actually."

"Wow, great," Adam replied, and wondered how to change the subject. "Oh, is this your lyric notebook?" he asked, seeing the open spiral bound book.

"Yeah. I mean, you can go ahead and look at it. I don't care." Kris wandered into the bathroom.

Adam's eyes widened. There were very few he'd let just look through his lyric notebook—Allison maybe, and his own brother just because he would ignore Adam telling him not to read it—so he felt kind of honored by the trust Kris was showing him. Which meant, of course, that he'd have to make light of it. "Okay, you're definitely a lesbian," he called out, "because you're writing about a tortured female poet who killed herself. You might as well move to Park Slope and get a big dog."

Kris poked his head out the door. "I like her poems," he said. "But it's not really about her anyway."

Adam nodded. "I hope you play it for me sometime," he said.

Kris came back out of the bathroom with a handful of toiletries, and smiled at Adam. "Maybe I will," he said. "Speaking of which, we should pack up this keyboard."

Adam helped him fasten the cover and collapse the stand, and Kris grabbed the headphones and the small speaker.

Kris closed the backpack and looked around. "Okay, that's it," he said.

"Everything you need for four days fits in one backpack?" Adam asked.

"Yeah. What, like dating guys means I have to use more hair products?"

"Hey man," Adam said, "I saw that thing of Bed Head you packed."

Kris rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

[Michael Jackson | Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Don_t_Stop_Til_You_Get_Enough/11262686)

They put the keyboard, guitar and backpack in the trunk, then got back into the car. Kris looked over his cds. "_Joshua Tree_?" he asked.

"Sure," Adam said with a shrug.

"Sure?" Kris asked.

"U2 isn't really my thing."

Kris sat back against the door. "I thought you were a rocker."

"Yeah, but like, David Bowie, or the Stones, or harder stuff."

"REM?" he asked.

"Um …"

"Okay, if I have to be a lesbian?" Kris said, "I'm taking away your Gen X membership card."

"Hey! I like Madonna and Michael Jackson!"

Kris shook his head. "Fine, I have _Off the Wall_."

"Yay!" Adam said. "See, we can meet in the middle."

As they came over the bridge, the sun was beginning to set, giant and orange over the still snow-covered city. Michael sang: _keep on with the force don't stop_ and Kris and Adam swayed in their seats, dancing to the music.

"God, that city is gorgeous," Adam said.

"It sure is," Kris said, sighing.

* * *

Adam's packing took much less time than Kris thought it would. Not that he didn't have far, far more to pack in terms of clothing and toiletries, but he was meticulous enough to have planned his outfits several days in advance so no decision making was necessary. Kris sat on the couch with Allison, watching as Adam filled a suitcase with military precision. "Oh, before I forget," Kris said, reaching into his messenger bag, "here's a song I found for you, for the showcase." He handed Allison a tape. "It's a classic, pretty straight forward; I'm sure Carly's band could learn it."

"Seriously?" she asked. "Thanks, man!"

Kris shrugged. "I heard it and it sounded like you."

"All right," Adam said, emerging from his bedroom with a large garment bag, a smaller hard-sided cosmetics case, and a rolling suitcase almost as tall as Kris.

"Jesus, Adam," Kris said, shaking his head.

"What?" Adam asked.

"Never mind."

After getting Adam's things packed in the car (good thing no one was riding in the back seat) they headed over to Ryan Seacrest's townhouse on west 24th street. They grabbed some things from the car and let themselves in.

"Oh," Kris said.

"Damn," Adam said.

The kitchen and living room were strewn with junk food wrappers and empty boxes of cookies. A pizza box sat atop the trash can. Upstairs there were clothes all over the bedroom, as if several outfits had been selected and discarded. A pile of VHS tapes had slumped over in front of the entertainment unit.

"How did he do this in less than forty-eight hours?" Adam asked, shaking his head.

Kris glanced at his watch. "What should we do first?"

Adam looked around. "Get rid of all this junk food, then go to Whole Foods and get some vegetables into this house."

As they went back downstairs, Kris asked, "I dunno, what's wrong with a little comfort food?"

Adam turned to him, bewildered, and then said, "Oh, of course, you don't know." He led Kris into the small office and pulled a photo album from the bookshelf, which he opened, pointing to a picture of a round-faced kid, no more than twelve, with glasses and braces.

"Recognize him?" Adam asked.

"Who?" Kris replied, taking a closer look. "Oh my god, that's Ryan."

"Yep. He was a fat little kid. So was I, actually, kind of."

Kris looked up at Adam, but Adam neither looked back nor stopped talking.

"But when he gets upset he binges on crap, and then doesn't eat all day because he freaks out about getting fat again."

"Like last night at sushi."

"Exactly. So we need to fill his fridge and freezer with the good stuff."

Two hours later, Kris wondered if he'd ever chopped so much in his life. Adam had every pan in the place on the stove and was making two different stews, a meatloaf that had no meat in it, a pasta sauce with ground turkey, and eggplant chili, and that was just for the freezer; for that night Adam planned some kind of Thai noodle and tofu dish. Kris was cursing his ability to chop onions without crying as he sliced through the seventh or eighth one of the day when they heard the key in the lock.

Adam grinned at Kris. "Let's meet him at the door."

So they walked around the corner to the entryway, still in their aprons. Ryan looked up and Adam smiled, saying "Hi honey, how was work today? Dinner's almost ready. Can I fix you a drink?"

Ryan stared in surprise and barked out a laugh. "What—how did you—"

Seeing Ryan stammering, Kris walked over to him and gave him a big hug. He felt Ryan tense, then relax into his arms. Ryan shifted his head to look up at Adam, then said, simply, "Thanks."

* * *

[Donald Fagen | Snowbound](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Snowbound/851585)

"If it stays warm like it was today," David said, "this snow will be gone soon."

"You call this warm?" Michael said, rubbing his hand together.

David smiled. It _was_ a bit of a hike from the subway to Ryan's house, by Manhattan standards, but David's midwestern blood refused to see 30º as a cold winter night. Michael, though, was proving very uninterested in going out into a snowy New York winter all that often, except to the TV network or to look at more apartments. Do him good to get out just for fun.

"This isn't gonna be another snipe-fest with Miss Lambert, is it?" Michael said.

David shrugged as he rang the buzzer. "That's up to her," he replied. "I just want to see how they're settling in with Ryan, see if they need anything."

"Sure you do, Dave," Michael said.

Kris answered the door, wearing a big apron. "Oh, hey guys! Come on in, we were just about to sit down to dinner."

"Oh, we don't want to interrupt anything," David said.

"No, no, let me just check real quick but I'm sure there's plenty." He disappeared down the hall, and David could just hear him and Adam muttering, then Kris ran back. "Dudes, take off your coats. We're having pad thai and some other stuff, hope that's okay."

"You know," Mike said, "we'll run down to the corner and get some beer to go with that, shall we? Can't come to dinner empty handed!"

So they grabbed a few six packs of Singha, and by the time they got back there were spring rolls and pad thai and salad to go with it. Ryan presided from the head of the table, cheerful probably thanks to the company, and Adam was pleasant enough. Not so difficult, David felt, when they stuck to Simon's case.

"So Hernandez said that the ethics clause in the lease kicks in when there's an actual judgment made against him in court," David said. "That's why Simon couldn't afford to have Paula prove that he'd been an adulterer. Uh, sorry, Ryan."

"No, please," Ryan said. "I was the other woman for a while, I admit it. It was a long time ago."

"Anyway," David continued, "Simon would have to be convicted. So even if they made it some kind of misdemeanor and let him off with time served, he still could lose the lease. What's more, I know you guys have been living there but coming back after a few months, it's shocking what's been happening to that neighborhood. I mean, three Gaps in walking distance from Club Idol? Does that even make any sense? And that big paperback bookstore gone, and some Barnes &amp; Noble moving in?"

"So Mr. Del Toro would jump all over an opportunity to break the lease," Adam said.

"Financially it would make sense," David said. "I can't imagine Simon is paying for that space what some mall store would pay."

"But we have no proof that Del Toro is connected to Lythgoe," Kris pointed out.

"Yeah, and that's the gap," David said. "But leases are a matter of public record, so anyone could look it up and see the clause."

"So if someone is trying to fuck Simon," Adam said, "they wouldn't have to have the big charges stick in order to do it."

"Exactly."

"Well, I'd rather be the only one trying to fuck Simon," Ryan said, "thank you very much."

"I'll drink to that," Michael said, and four other beer bottles clinked with his.

Ryan took a big drink, then said, "So, Cook, I hear the guys in your band will be here soon?"

David nodded. "Monday morning," he said. "I can't wait."

"Where are they staying?" Kris asked. "Carly said you guys are pretty full up."

"My hotel room," Michael said, "until I find a place. Then they'll just take over Dave and Carls's lease."

"Wait, Carly is moving in with you two?" Adam asked.

"Well, she _is_ my wife," David said.

Adam shook his head. "You guys are seriously weird."

David shrugged. "As long as Immigration buys it, I don't care how it looks."

Adam didn't seem to have a good answer to that, as he turned to Kris. "Hey, what was that song you gave Allison?"

"Oh," he said, "this old song by Shocking Blue, 'Send Me a Postcard.'"

"Really?" David said, surprised. "I love that song! Such a classic!"

"Yeah?" Kris asked. "Your band ever play it? I mean, do you guys know it?"

"Absolutely," David said. "I love singing girl songs."

Adam rolled his eyes at that, but David ignored him, focusing instead on Kris's answering grin.

"Would you guys play it behind Allie, if she decides to sing it at the showcase?" Kris asked.

"God, of course," David replied. "Absolutely, be glad to."

Adam cocked his head. "Really, you'd do that?"

"Why not?" David said.

"I dunno, Kris, didn't you say something about Simon wanting it to be some weird competition, between Allie and David's guy?"

"Archie," Michael said.

"Archie, yeah, between Allie and Archie?" Adam asked.

"Let me tell you something about Simon," Ryan said. "I love him, obviously I love him a lot. But his whole weird thing about catty girls and bitchy boys fighting for his amusement, well, I wouldn't take it too seriously. His bewilderment by people who are kind and genuine is his own problem. I mean, I can be nice, and he seems to like me. I don't think that's a side of him to be emulated." He looked up as the doorbell chimed. "God, it's like Grand Central Station around here all of a sudden," he said.

"Stay put, I'll go," David said.

At the door was a blonde in a red dress—the same girl Adam had pointed out earlier—only upon closer look, that was no girl. "And you are?" he asked.

"I'm Danielle." She grinned and handed him a small package. "Compliments of Nigel Lythgoe," she said, curtseying.

"This isn't a bomb or anything, is it?" David asked, shaking the box.

"No, no," she said, "it's very pleasant. Ta!" She waved her fingers and skipped down the stairs and away.

David shut the door, still a bit confused, and returned to the table. "Well, now we know who was following us today—some drag queen working for Nigel."

"Kinda creepy," Kris said.

David shrugged. "He said he'd know where we were, so I'm not surprised."

"At least he's kind of a friend?" Adam said.

"Anyway, she gave me this box, said it was for Ryan." He took a knife from the table to cut through the paper tape, and opened the box. "Well," he said, raising his eyebrows and taking a plastic bag out of the box, "what do we have here?"

Michael took the bag and smelled it. "What we have here, gentlemen," he said, "is a very nice supply of premium grade marijuana."

They all looked to Ryan, who shrugged and said, "Well, we can't smoke it in the living room. I'll never get the smell out of the upholstery."


	5. Have His Caretakers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weekend at Ryan's. Adam makes an important discovery. Also, where is Anoop?

This is how it happened:

Kris had been working at Idol for less than a week, and in New York for less than a month, when he had his first day off and decided to spend it at the club seeing what it was like from the patron's POV. He could get in for free, get all the free soda he wanted, and get in on staff dinner in exchange for helping to set up, so it was a really cheap evening all things considered. Everyone he'd met so far was really cool, especially that kid Adam who worked the door. He dressed kinda crazy, as did a lot of people in the club, only he pulled it off like it was just a pair of jeans. Besides, he was Simon's current favorite, which counted for a lot.

Kris danced for a bit, but found he mostly wanted to stand on one of the balconies and watch the party that Simon Cowell so carefully orchestrated six nights a week. At around 2am, he noticed that Adam was now on the dance floor, swaying to the music with his hands above his head. Kris couldn't help but watch him, couldn't imagine that every single eye in the club was on him. He knew that Cowell was probably watching from his office directly across the floor, above Blake's DJ booth, at least.

Then suddenly Adam opened his eyes, and Kris could have sworn that Adam saw him, staring down. He gave a little half-smirk, then moved off the dance floor, and Kris lost him in the crowd.

He felt like a creepy stalker, or at least a weirdo fan, and thought maybe it was time to head back to Brooklyn. He left the balcony and there, at the foot of the stairs, was Adam. He was so much taller than Kris to begin with—and even taller in his crazy boots—that Kris had to stand three steps up to be anything like eye to eye with the guy. "Um, hi," he said, lamely.

"You're Kris," Adam said, poking him in the chest.

"You're … Adam," Kris replied.

"You're new here," Adam said.

"Yeah," he said.

Adam licked his lips, and Kris suddenly felt like one of those bugs pinned to a card that you see in museums. "You should come with me," he said, grabbing Kris's hand.

He led the way around the fringes of the dance floor and the crowd around the bar, down the back hallway to the bathrooms where several couples of varying orientation were doing … something up against the wall, and into the storage room at the back. There was an old couch, its cushions too stained for it to be out with the patrons, and Adam slinked down onto it.

"God," he said, looking up at Kris, "could you be cuter?"

"Um, what?" Kris asked, feeling like he was still a step or two behind wherever Adam was.

"Come on," Adam said, beckoning him, so Kris sits on the couch, and Adam slides, then Kris slides, until they're next to each other and it all feels kinda inevitable—and if Kris thought about it (which he does, he can't help it, he's always over thinking everything) it had been inevitable since Adam caught him looking, maybe since they met, maybe even since Kris arrived in New York. Adam leans in and they're kissing, hot and wet, and the makeup confuses Kris, because his lips are slick with lipstick like a girl, but his kiss is firm and aggressive like a guy, and Kris's thoughts about the entire encounter keep going in and out of phase like a worn-out cassette tape. At some point in all this he ended up in Adam's lap, and he can feel Adam hard under him—and enormous, what the heck, that's insane and not a little scary given the way he's thrusting into the cleft of Kris's ass. Kris isn't even drunk and Adam doesn't seem to be either but apparently they've decided to pretend that they are, with the no preamble, just right down to business, obeying their bodies.

Kris had fooled around with a couple of guys in Arkansas between the divorce and the move, and had dated a couple of guys in New York that he met through his church, but he'd kept everything really casual and other than that one guy back home the sex hadn't progressed too far. Part of that was that it was all so new, not just being out of the closet but being with anyone other than Katy, with being single and all that it meant, and he just flat-out had no idea what he was doing. Part of it was the disconnect in his head between the apparent acceptance, even expectation, of very casual sexual encounters among gay men and his own understanding of sex as sacred gift shared between a loving couple. But Adam was like a planet, with his own gravitational pull, and in a way Kris just felt kind of singled out that Adam had noticed him already.

And he was digging the kissing, and the rubbing and all that, until Adam's hand made its way between Kris's legs, and then it was like he'd suddenly woken up. "Um," he said, pulling back from Adam's mouth.

"Like it some other way, honey?" Adam said. His eyelids were heavy, half-closed, and Kris could see layers of carefully blended eyeshadow above the black eyeliner.

"No, I just—this isn't …"

"It's cool," Adam said, raising up both hands, palms forward. "No means no and all that jazz. I don't want it if you don't want it."

Kris hopped up onto his feet. "It isn't that I don't want it," he said, straightening out his clothes.

"Well," Adam said, smiling at him, "it ain't a one-time-only offer. I'm not going anyplace."

"Me neither," Kris said.

"Cool," Adam replied, and sank back into the cushions of the couch.

Kris gave a little wave as he walked out, and Adam waved back, waggling his fingers and smiling, and Kris thought that maybe, possibly, he hadn't just done the dorkiest thing in the history of the universe.

But even if he had, well, it wasn't like he could have done anything else.

* * *

[Salt 'n' Pepa | Shoop](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Shoop/13051450)

_24 February 1996_

Kris sat in the living room, legs crossed on the sofa, drinking coffee. The night before was coming back to him in bits and pieces still, though less because of drinking too much (he'd had all of four beers in four or five hours) or smoking too much (they'd only rolled one joint and shared it between the five of them) and more because they'd been up so late and said so much. It hadn't been the first time he'd had pot, though it was so harsh on his throat that he'd never even been tempted to make it a habit, never mind that it could make you seriously stupid. But at a party, or a night in with friends who'd had a rough few days, really, why not?

He remembered everyone putting on their coats and going up to the roof, where it was cold but not horrifically so. He remembered the snow crunching under their feet, and looking around at the lights of New Jersey and the dark gap of the abandoned warehouses north of them. They'd brushed the snow off some outdoor furniture and sat down, smoking and drinking and talking, before eventually the cold, the need for munchies, and the end of the joint drove them back into the living room. Adam made big bowls of air-popped popcorn to keep Ryan "on track" and there was also a bag of pretzels from someplace that sent them to the fridge for more beer.

He remembered David and Michael being snuggly at one point and Ryan looking on wistfully, while he himself tried very hard _not_ to look at Adam. He remembered David pointing at Adam and asking him why he felt the need to be so damn bitchy, and Adam sassing him back with a bit less sting than usual, and then Ryan saying to him that it was okay to be nice sometimes, and Adam staring right at Kris when he said, "I know."

And a little bit to his shame, he remembered letting it slip that he knew Salt's part of "Shoop" and being challenged on it, which led to his dancing around the living room like a moron, rapping about boys, while Adam handled the Pepa part. Even the fuzzy-headedness didn't make him brave enough to say to Adam _brotha wanna thank your mother for a butt like that_ so he ended up saying it all to Ryan, who seemed safer. On second thought, he might have said it to David, who certainly had a nice ass, but he also had a big tennis player boyfriend, so it was probably best that he hadn't. Happily there were four bedrooms in the house, so he and Adam each had their own bed to crash in, but he still felt a little unsettled. Well, he'd just wait until it was a decent hour on the west coast and call Katy.

He heard steps on the stairs. "Oh my god," Adam said, "is that coffee I smell?" He yawned, stretching his hands over his head, and Kris couldn't help but stare at the patch of skin that showed between his t-shirt and his rather low-slung sleep pants—or rather, the line of dark hair below his navel.

"Um, yeah," Kris said, swallowing hard. "Made a whole pot."

"Bless you," Adam said, stumbling off into the kitchen. He returned with a steaming mug and slouched down on the couch next to Kris.

Kris clicked on the TV. "Oh, New York 1," he said. "I like that guy who reads the papers."

"I like channel 35 better," Adam said, winking.

"What?" Kris asked.

"Oh, that's right, you're in Brooklyn. It's like this weird free cable access porn channel."

"Seriously?"

"Totally. There's strippers, and ads for escort services and phone lines, and a whole show about S&amp;M with some guy named Slave Dale. It isn't actually that sexy, but it's a hoot."

The anchor was talking about a modest drug bust the night before, and Kris wondered, vaguely, if any of those arrested were Nigel's people. Odd, to have this connection to a drug trafficker. He kind of almost rooted for the guy, though clearly the ADA for Special Narcotics didn't.

"Hey!" Adam said. "That's Kara DioGuardi!"

"Yeah," Kris said, seeing her name under her picture.

"But that's—that's—I have to call Hernandez!" He put his coffee down and sprinted back up the stairs, then came back down with an address book and grabbed the cordless from the side table. "Hernandez, it's Adam Lambert, sorry to be calling so early," he said, then looked up at the cable box. "Oh, you're right, it's like, noon. Oh well! … Yeah, we saw David last night, he filled us in. Say, I was just watching New York 1, and that ADA, DioGuardi, that's the one on Simon's case, right? … Well, this is the thing. We were at Paula's yesterday, right? And I got a phone call, so I went into her office to take it and in there was a picture of her with the ADA. … I know! And get this: Paula said that they were old friends, and that they'd shared an apartment for a while right after Paula left Simon, when DioGuardi was in law school. … She didn't seem to think it was a problem to tell me, so. … Really? Man, because that would be great. Do you think it would make a difference? … Oh, that's fantastic. Should I tell him, or do you think … Right, right, okay. Well, let us know, and we'll be there! … Okay, thanks man. Bye."

"Wow, seriously?" Kris asked. "The ADA is friends with Paula?"

"Yeah, and I know she and Simon are friends now and everything," Adam said, "but I can't imagine that Paula had that much good to say about Simon on the day she moved out of the house." He looked at Kris, then bit his lip. "I mean, unless they were like you and Katy, of course."

Kris smiled, that he'd remembered that conversation. "Nah, me and Katy are weird," he said. "Ya can't judge divorced couples by us."

"Okay," Adam said. "Anyway, Hernandez said he's going to file for whatever, I dunno, but the thing is, we can't tell Ryan yet, in case nothing happens."

Kris nodded. "Yeah, he only just got back into a good mood."

Adam cocked his head. "Kris?"

"Yeah?"

"I mean—oh, whatever."

"What?" Kris asked, sitting up.

Adam sighed. "You like, don't have a crush on Ryan or anything, do you?"

Kris blinked, and tried to think of a reply. Apparently the redirection of his _actual_ crush was working a little too well. "No, man. I mean, he's not really my type, but it's like he's got 'Property of Simon Cowell' tattooed on his head. I'm not dumb—I don't get in the way of the real thing, man. I mean, anyone tried to get between me and Katy? She'd go after them like you don't even wanna know. I figure the way y'all act around Simon and Ryan, at least one of them is like that, if not both."

"Both," Adam said, smiling.

"I just thought Ryan might like a little attention, y'know, since Simon isn't around and all."

"Yeah, maybe," Adam said. The phone rang then, and Adam looked at the caller id before picking it up. "New York Correc? Oh, this must be Simon!" He answered. "Hello? … Yeah, you too. … Yeah, he's right here. … He's still in bed, I think. … Um, okay." Adam pulled his head away from the phone and looked at it, then hit a button. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, yes," said Simon's voice on the speaker. "So how is my darling lady?" he asked.

Kris scowled, confused—lady?—before remembering that where Simon was, he probably didn't want anyone to know he was gay. "She's real good," Kris said.

"We stuffed her with good food last night, and your freezer, too," Adam said.

"Excellent, excellent. So long as she's having a good time. Now, boys, I want you to do something for me."

"Okay," Kris said.

"But understand, only if you're comfortable."

"That's fine," Adam said. "We understand."

"Right. So, see, I asked you to go over there because I don't want her to get too lonely while I'm here," he said.

"Of course," Kris said.

"And I mean, lonely in all ways." He paused. "I'm sure you can see why I couldn't put this into the instructions I gave to Giuliana."

"No, I think we get it now," Adam said, though Kris didn't, not quite. "Um, does she know?"

"She knows I sent for you two," he said. "So if the opportunity arises, I'm sure she'll know that I arranged it, so to speak."

"Well, there you go then," Adam said.

"Kris, are you still there?" Simon asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm here," Kris replied. "Totally, totally get it."

"Well, that's a relief, I wasn't sure you'd be okay with that Kris, I have to admit. Right, my time is about up, so I'll go, but you take care. Of her and each other."

"We will Simon, and you take care of yourself," Adam said. Then Simon hung up.

"Um, Adam?" Kris asked.

"Yeah, he wants us to fuck Ryan," Adam said. "That's what he was saying."

"Oh." Kris thought a moment. "Wow." Then he wondered how Adam could tell that he needed the explanation.

"Yeah. I mean, you've heard the stories, right?"

"Um, no, what stories?"

"So the rumor is that Simon and Ryan basically invite you into their bed if you're the one that Simon's chosen," he said.

"Really?" Kris asked.

"Yeah, like, I've heard it goes all the way back to Kelly Clarkson, though no one seems to think they fucked Ruben or Clay or Fantasia. But I've heard it about Daughtry, and Carrie, and Kat McPhee, and apparently some kind of foursome with Blake and Chris because god knows Blake won't even take a shit without Chris in the general vicinity. Not Jordin, obviously, but supposedly Cook just before he left."

"David Cook?" Kris asked, feeling kinda dumb that he'd never heard these stories.

"Yeah, but the thing is, the people never talk about it, or deny it or whatever, and everyone else is like, third hand. Like, Megan says that she heard it from Carly, but you know Megan, who even knows."

"So, like, you were next," Kris said.

"I guess so? I mean, maybe I was but now there's all this going on? I don't know, I mean, Simon was always really personally involved but not like _that_."

Kris took another swallow of coffee. "I dunno, I mean, no offense? But it's kinda weird for them to be demanding sexual favors in exchange for—"

"No, no, that's not it," he said. "It's supposed to be like, a gift, or a bonding thing or something. Not like, a casting couch."

"Huh," Kris said.

"So look, I mean, I know we had that thing once, and I know you're like, a man of faith or whatever—"

"How do you know that?" Kris asked.

Adam cocked his head. "Dude, you have a fish on your car."

"Oh, right," Kris said, nodding.

"So anyway, I mean, I don't know how you feel about it? But you don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"Okay," Kris said. "I mean, thanks man. I appreciate that."

"Sure. So, what are you doing today?" Adam asked.

"Um, not much. Gotta coupla lessons later this afternoon, then, y'know, work."

"Yeah," Adam said. "I'm gonna try to get Ryan to the gym today, and then yeah. Work. Maybe we should bring Ryan to the club tonight? I can't decide."

"Well, we can ask him," Kris said, hearing Ryan come down the stairs, still in his pyjamas, glasses on rather than contacts. He had his cell phone to his ear.

"No, that would be great. I'm looking forward to it. Thanks, G!" He hung up. "Well, what do you know? Giuliana's throwing me a little dinner party tonight! Isn't that nice, a bunch of my friends all over at her and Bill's?" He smiled, and sighed. "People have just—people have just been great, they really have." He clapped his hands. "Okay, you guys did enough cooking last night; I'm making eggs for breakfast!" he announced, then walked into the kitchen.

"God, who wears pj's like that anymore?" Adam asked. "He looks like Ally McBeal."

Kris nodded, thinking about a round boy with glasses and braces sitting alone in his apartment bingeing on Ho-hos after bringing his jailed boyfriend several cartons of cigarettes, and said, "Whatever he wants, count me in."

* * *

[Wild Orchid | Talk to Me](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Talk_To_Me_Extended_Album_Version_/23155615)

David wandered over to Club Idol Saturday night on the off-chance that Anoop showed up. Adam was working the door, as usual, and David thought how different it was approaching him now than it had been only—wow, only three days ago. Adam was wearing his giant coat and top hat again, and platforms; David stood behind him, slouched against the wall that vibrated with the bass coming out of the club.

"God this song sucks," Adam said. "I mean, what is that to say to someone? 'Talk to me tonight about love?' What does that even mean?"

"Since when have any of these songs made any sense?" David asked. "They're all just some variety of hey, let's fuck."

"Or damn, the person who was fucking me has fucked off," Adam replied.

"Also I'm so glad we're fucking," David said.

"Your life will be saved on the dance floor," Adam said.

"I think that's just Madonna," David said.

"Yeah, that's totally Madonna," Adam replied, snickering. "So, dude, I talked to Matt? And he's all buddies with Anoop and all that, and man, I think Anoop has fucked off."

"Yeah?" David asked.

"Yeah. Like, Matt gets Fridays off, so he and Anoop usually go out or at least go to dinner, but he hasn't heard from Anoop in _days_ and he says that never happens. Even went over to his place but it didn't look like anyone had been there in a while."

"Wow."

Adam nodded. "So, like, we'll keep a lookout but I don't know when that guy is gonna show. And it sucks, because there's a lot of shit we need to ask him." Adam looked out over the crowd and shouted to a girl in blue and her friends, and the crowd of hopeful rejects parted enough to let her in. David could see the advantage of the platforms. "Not to mention that Matt has this like, _thing_ for Anoop that he's totally not admitting, so that makes him even more freaked out because it's one thing for Anoop to fuck off and another thing for him to fuck off and not tell Matt about it."

"Man, Matt, that's a dead end," David said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, but who hasn't had some dumb thing for a straight guy at some point. Or even a newly-out-of-the-closet guy." Adam paused, then said, "So, you know, you can hang around if you want, but I don't think we'll see him."

David felt restless and out of sorts. Everyone he knew worked on Saturday nights—hell, he used to work on Saturday nights—and Mike was off at some tennis banquet. Even Archie had gone up to the Bronx for a family thing. "I'll hang around," he said with a shrug, "if that's cool."

Adam cocked his head, then gave him a little smile. "Yeah," he said, "that's cool."

* * *

[Gene Kelly | I Got Rhythm](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/I_Got_Rhythm/10239935)

_25 February 1996_

Sunday ended up being a pretty fucking good day, actually, and lord knew Ryan needed one. Though that might have been why he got it.

It started with a phone call from Simon, and god but he missed him. He hadn't realized, not until now, how far he'd let that irritable, sarcastic, troublesome man into his life, how much Simon took care of him and he took care of Simon. He missed the sex, sure, but he also missed the running commentary that accompanied almost everything they did, all day long. He had planned to go back out to Riker's on Monday, but Simon said there might be a hearing in court, so he was going to talk to Hernandez and play it by ear.

He dialed into MTV and checked his email, and found that not much had happened since the day before, to his relief. Then he got dressed, and went downstairs, and there was coffee already made. Kris was waiting for him in the living room. "Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, you bet," Ryan replied.

"Sure you don't want to come?" Kris asked Adam.

"Nah," Adam said. "Thanks, but I kinda like being a great big Jew." He smiled. "But I'll have whole grain pancakes and turkey bacon and fruit salad waiting for you when you get back!"

Ryan hadn't been to church in quite a while—not since he'd started seeing Simon at least, maybe not since he'd started the MTV job and was so often out late at night. It was kind of nice, and he appreciated Kris bringing him along. He felt like he was a teen again, or visiting his parents. There was a kind of homeyness about it that he didn't expect from his life in New York unless he created it himself. He prayed for Simon, mostly, but also everyone else he knew, and for himself a little, and felt reconnected to something.

And then there was brunch, back at the townhouse, and Adam had invited Allison over, too. Whole grain pancakes with turkey bacon wasn't really flapjacks and bacon, and he could almost hear how Simon would have bitched about it if he were there, but they were still good. Then best of all, they all curled up on the couch and watched movies—_An American in Paris_ was on cable, and _On the Town_ after that, and they ate veggies with yogurt dip and talked about Gene Kelly's ass.

Carly's band Cherry Bomb was playing at AGT that night, and Adam was going to sing a song with them, so they dressed up and headed out. Ryan hadn't been to Club Idol since that night, and didn't want to go, but AGT was too full of Nick's energy to have more ghosts of Simon than Ryan could handle. And besides, all these nice people were looking out for him. Ryan took Adam and Kris and Allison out to dinner first, one of those Mongolian barbeque places. It was just a fun, nice day.

[Bryan Adams | Heaven ](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Heaven/21870254)

They got to AGT a little early, really before it was properly open but Ryan wanted to see Nick anyway, without all the chaos. When they came in, David and Michael were there, too, and there was a kid sitting at the piano, singing that Bryan Adams prom song.

"That must be Archie," Adam whispered.

"He sounds good," Kris whispered back.

Adam nodded. "Yeah, he really does."

As he finished, they walked up toward the stage, but before Ryan could shake the kid's hand, he heard a shriek from behind him.

"Oh my god, David Archuleta?" Allison screamed.

Archie turned. "Allie? Allison Iraheta?"

Then they hugged, and immediately began speaking in very rapid Spanglish.

"Uh," David said. "I guess you know each other?"

Archie laughed. "Sorry! Um, Allie and I grew up together."

"We went to the same church," she said.

"And the same church school," he said.

"And we lived about three blocks apart," she added.

"But she was always a lot cooler then me," he said.

"No!" she said, smiling. "Anyway you got better grades."

"C'mon, Allie, you're really smart," he said. "You just didn't like it there."

"Nope," she said. "Left as soon as I could, got my GED. When did you leave?"

He shrugged. "Graduated early and stuff, and then at Christmas I said I wanted to be a singer, and, well, you know."

"Yeah," she said, and hugged him again. "So what are you doing now?"

"Living with Cook here," he said, "and I'm gonna sing at the showcase next week."

"You are?" she asked, excited. "So am I!"

"Really? Oh my gosh, that's great!"

"Davey," she said, giggling, "you can swear now, you know, now that you've left."

"Yeah, I dunno, I still don't want to," he said, looking up at her shyly. "Anyway, I have to find a song; nothing feels quite right yet."

Adam cleared his throat. "You know, I think I know something," he said. "Um, let me just run back to my place and grab it. Here, I'll take your things back, Allie."

"Wow, thanks," she said.

As Adam trotted out the door, Archie said, "So, you're living with him?"

Allie giggled. "Not like that!"

"That's not what I meant!" Archie said. "Even I could tell he's gay!" He paused, then said, "Sometimes I think everyone around here is gay, actually."

"That's what happens when you come downtown," Allie said. She looked around at Kris, and Ryan, and David and Michael, and Nick and Scott in the corner talking to Carly and her band. "I don't think Brooke is gay," she said. "I'm not, either."

"Me too," Archie said. "I mean, me neither. I mean, I'm not gay, either."

"No kidding," David said, grinning. "He keeps rejecting me!"

"Ew, that is not true! You haven't—that would be gross!" Archie protested. "Not because you're a guy, but you're with Michael, and you're kinda old."

"Ouch!" David said. "I'm twenty-five!"

"Yeah, well," Archie said, but he was grinning, so David punched him in the arm.

They took some seats at the bar, while the first band set up, everyone talking over each other, and before too long Adam came back with a CD in his hand. "Here," he said, a little out of breath. "Third track. I'm so sure they have the sheet music at Colony, and I think just you and the piano?"

David looked over Archie's shoulder. "Bacharach, huh. Oh, I know that song; we played it in like, high school jazz band."

"Band geek," Adam said.

"Theater nerd," David replied.

"Anyway," Adam continued, "everyone knows Simon's a sucker for a pretty little pop ballad."

"Gee, thanks," Archie said.

"Yeah," David said, looking Adam in the eye. "Thanks."

Ryan looked over at Kris, who smiled back.

Nick came over then, full of his usual greetings and high spirits. He didn't have to do much emcee'ing on Saturdays, as the bands took care of themselves, which often meant he'd have a little nervous energy and be bouncing around the back of the room. Scott, as usual, just sat and listened as Nick prattled on about this or that, and Ryan wondered if he knew that all of his shirts were purple, or if this was some weird long-running prank that Nick was pulling on him.

Nick sat down on the bar, as he often did before the place opened, and lit a cigarette.

"Hey," Ryan said, noticing the green pack, "that's Simon's brand." It was downright pavlovian, his body's response to the smell of the weird minty smoke, and his stomach clenched with missing Simon. He cleared his throat, as unobtrusively as possible, and then felt Kris's hand on his shoulder, giving him a squeeze. Always watching him, that Kris, and it made him miss Simon even more, because he did that, too. Simon must have noticed Kris doing that, and sent him to Ryan for that reason.

"Yeah, it's not my usual," Nick was saying. "I'm a Marlboro man if you can believe it. But I'm not going to turn down free cigarettes."

"Free?" asked Adam.

"Yeah, just the other day, Tuesday actually, five boxes of cigarettes turned up in the storage room. Out of nowhere!"

Adam and David exchanged a look, then Adam said, "Nick, do you remember who was around on Tuesday, and could have gone back there?"

"Well, the bathroom is back there, so anyone might have gone in. But Cherry Bomb was playing that night, and I remember Ramiele and Tatiana and Kristy Lee all sharing a table and gossiping about working for Simon. Oh, and you know, Paula was here. I think she's just always liked Carly. That's not so unusual—she comes by, oh, once or twice a month, something like that."

Adam and David exchanged another look, and Ryan couldn't help but think that there was some kind of clue, but he wasn't sure what it was.

Nick looked at his watch. "Okay, let's get things started," he said, hopping down and walking over to the door, where Lil Rounds stood, ready to collect the cover charge. AGT wasn't that large, and the crowds on Sunday night were modest, so only Jorge Nuñez needed to staff the bar. After he walked away, David pulled a little notebook out of his pocket.

"Paula, Ramiele, Tatiana, and Kristy Lee, right?" he asked.

"And all the girls in Cherry Bomb," Adam said, "so that means Megan."

"But—never mind, we'll talk later," David said, noting the people coming in the door, including one Tatiana Del Toro. Adam winced, and fled as the girl made a beeline for Ryan.

"Oh Ryan!" she shouted. "I am so glad to see you!" she said, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Um, hi, Tatiana," he said, hugging her awkwardly. "How have you been?"

"Oh, but how have _you_ been, Ryan?" she asked. "Are you okay? We haven't seen you at the club!"

"Yes, thank you, yes. I have a lot of good friends and all is well."

"Really? Is there anything I can do, anything at all?" She stared at him with her large, round eyes.

"Wow, I really appreciate it but I don't think so. Can you think of anything, Kris?"

"No," Kris said. "Well, I mean—you aren't friends with Anoop, are you? Because we haven't seen him in a while, and we're getting kinda worried."

"Oh," she said, and put a finger to her lips. She beckoned them closer, and stage-whispered, "I used to be more than friends with Anoop! But he made me promise not to tell anyone!" She backed up, her hand over her mouth again, giggling.

"Gee, that wasn't very nice of him," Kris said.

Tatiana scowled, and her eyes were suddenly very dark. "No, it wasn't," she said. "It was very mean of him." Then she giggled again, a little self-consciously, and Ryan wondered what she possibly found funny. "But that is his loss!"

"That's right," Ryan said. "If I dated you, I wouldn't keep it a secret."

"Oh Ryan," she said, hitting him in the chest in a way she no doubt thought was flirtatious but which actually hurt, "you are such a tease! We all know your heart is elsewhere!"

"Well, yes, that's true," Ryan said.

She turned to Kris. "And you?"

Ryan turned, wondering what he would say. He'd noticed a little bit of energy between Kris and Adam, but it didn't seem that anything had happened quite yet. "Oh, Tatiana," he said, "I don't really date girls anymore, I'm sorry." Ryan had to hand it to him—the kid actually sounded sincere.

"Oh well!" she said, and gave Kris a hug anyway, one that nearly knocked him over backwards. "Where is that Adam?" she asked, turning around. "Adam! Adam!" she shouted as she wandered off.

"Wow," Ryan said, turning back to Kris and smiling, but Kris's jaw was set, angrily. "What?" Ryan asked.

"Oh, that Anoop," Kris said. "Seriously, what an ass. I mean, he seems like a nice guy and all, and fun to be around, and then he pulls shit like this?" Kris shook his head. "Never mind that he's got Matt following him around like a puppy dog, and he could put a stop to that if he wanted to, but he doesn't." He shook his head. "What an ego."

"Well!" Ryan said. He didn't know if he'd ever seen Kris this out of sorts—he was usually so easy-going. "Remind me not to get on your bad side!"

Kris's jaw relaxed then. "Sorry," he said. "I just can't stand to see people treated carelessly."

Ryan turned and watched as Adam smiled at Tatiana, actually looking like he was listening to her with interest—if you didn't know what his interested look actually was. Maybe Kris was rubbing off on him. "Then I'm glad you're my friend, Kris," Ryan said.

[The Sounds | Queen of Apology](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Queen_Of_Apology/34688)

Adam came back to his seat just as the music was starting. The first two bands were fine, in their way—some punkish band from out of town with a histrionic blonde girl singer who liked to wander out into the crowd screaming about whateverthehell, and then a bunch of cow punks that sounded like very early k.d.lang. Cherry Bomb came on around ten, and by then the place was packed—the girls had slowly built their own little following, thanks to Simon frequently booking them at AGT. Of course Ryan had heard them before but there were some new songs mixed in, and he was very sorry Simon wasn't there to hear them. He particularly liked the one about being the queen of apology—he felt that way himself, sometimes.

Then Carly said, "We'd like to end our set by bringing up a friend of the band, who sings a mean rock song—almost as good as I do! Come on up, Adam Lambert!"

There was applause and general shouting, and the crowd parted for Adam, as they tend to do for certain people. Ryan hadn't actually heard Adam sing in a little while, mostly because Simon was still trying to work out what to do with the kid. He didn't fit into an easy category, which made the process a bit trickier and more labor intensive, though Ryan was pretty sure Simon was up to it. A real challenge would probably be good for him.

That is, if he got past the current one.

[Pat Benatar | Promises in the Dark](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Promises_in_the_Dark/8190849)

Adam stood on the stage like he owned it—not much new there—and he had a much better new-Elvis snarl than most people. "Some friends of mine have been talking lately about singing songs by girls," he said, "and I thought this would be a good time to show that I can do that, too." Brooke was on the piano, Carly on the guitar, and as Adam started to sing, Ryan realized he knew this song well. _never again, isn't that what you said?_

He hadn't forgotten how exciting it was to watch Adam sing, bouncing around on the stage, punching every lyric, whipping the crowd up with the emotion he put into his performance. Carly didn't play solos often, nor Megan many drum fills, but the whole band rose to the occasion, tight as anything. Unsurprisingly, Kris was the opposite of playing it cool—he was on the floor, dancing and pumping his fist, as was Allison, so Ryan got down off his stool and joined them, and when Adam hit that insane high note they cheered with the rest of the crowd. Ryan watched Kris as the song ended—he was staring up at Adam with a kind of amazed admiration—and wondered if it was just the usual musical crush, or something more. Certainly the two of them worked together well.

Adam's song closed out the set, and Cherry Bomb's set closed out the night, so there wasn't much more to do other than settle up the tab Ryan had started earlier for the three of them, and then chat with Kris while they waited for Adam, who for once didn't take long.

"Hey," he said. "David and Michael are going to help them load out, so we can just go. Where's Allie?"

"I think she's all right," Kris said, nodding across the room. Adam turned, and saw Allie talking to Archie.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, grinning. "Well, shall we?"

[Ryan Adams | Sylvia Plath](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Sylvia_Plath/174936)

They were home by midnight, pretty early by clubbing standards, and between that and the show they were still sort of wired. Kris made some cocoa, and then Adam said something about wanting to hear a song that Kris had been working on, so they brought Kris's keyboard downstairs and set it up in the living room. Kris sat on a stool, a notebook in front of him, and Adam settled onto the couch next to Ryan.

"Okay, this is still a little rough, so you know, suggestions for improvement are welcome," Kris said, then cleared his throat. It was pretty, a melancholy little song of yearning: _she'd ash on the carpets and slip me a pill and she'd get me pretty loaded on gin, and maybe she'd give me a bath, oh I wish I had a Sylvia Plath_.

Like everything else lately, it just made Ryan think of Simon, but in that sweet way that made his heart ache. "Kris, that was beautiful," he said.

"Yeah?" Kris asked. "I got an idea for a string line, actually. You know, if it ever gets recorded. I mean, I got my viola back in Williamsburg."

Adam was smiling. "Of course you play the viola," he said. "Of course you do."

Kris smiled at that. "Anything you want to sing, Adam?" he asked.

"Maybe?" he said, sitting up. "You know that Tears for Fears song, 'Mad World'?"

"Yeah," Kris said.

"I've been playing around with slowing it down."

[Adam Lambert | Mad World](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Mad_World_American_Idol_Studio_Version_/22465367)

"Yeah, that was one of those sad lyrics happy music 80s songs," Kris replied. "How slow?" he asked, starting to play the chords.

"Just a little slower—yeah, yeah, like that," he said, and then he got up and stood behind Kris, leaning against the mantle. _hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow, no tomorrow, no tomorrow_

Ryan sniffled a little. "Wow," he said. "That was, that was really great."

"Oh no, Ryan!" Adam said, coming back to the couch. "We weren't trying to make you cry!"

"It's okay," Ryan said, waving his hand. "Really, it's good."

Kris sat on the other side of him. "Are you sure, Ryan?"

Ryan could almost feel Kris and Adam looking at each other. He felt them close to him down to his bones and god, he was so tired, but he really didn't want to sleep, or fall part, or any of it. "Did Simon put you up to this?" he asked.

Kris grinned. "Kinda. But we wouldn't do anything just 'cause of that," he said.

Ryan sighed.

"Ryan," Adam said, "what do you want?"

Ryan closed his eyes for a moment, and lay his head back on the sofa. When he opened them again he said, "Honestly? I just miss him touching me; he touches me all the damn time. I don't need the sex. It would just be nice to have someone else in the bed. I mean, it's a king sized bed. We can all fit." He paused, then continued, "He really said that?"

They nodded.

"God, he's such a—look, I know about that whole rumor, about all these threesomes we're having? And it isn't really true, not in the way people talk about it, but even if it was—Jesus, Simon. It's just like him to think that this is going to make me unhappy or resentful." He shook his head. "Come on, let's just get undressed and go to bed." He got up from the couch and led the way upstairs.


	6. Pushers Must Advertise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anoop finally turns up, bringing David and Adam much closer to solving the mystery. Also, Kris asks Adam a very important question.

This is how it happened:

Ryan Seacrest had moved to New York from Atlanta three years earlier for a radio job, and had managed to parlay that into entertainment reporter on the local 5 o'clock news and some stringer stuff at the New York Times, mostly because the only person at the Grey Lady who knew about anything going on below 14th street or above 125th was Pareles, and he was only one man. Then in '87 he got the MTV News gig, which was small but growing, and Loder seemed to like him.

He'd kept the Times stringer work, though, and because of it had wandered into a new club downtown. Word was the owner was staffing the place with hopefuls who were all vaguely competing to be managed by him. Simon Cowell was building it all off the success of a few pop stars he'd broken, some New Kids-like band from England, and now the pop and rock singers were beating a path to his door. The club was supposed to be pretty good, too.

Ryan decided to check out the club for himself one night, incognito, before trying to track anyone down to interview, especially Cowell. He knew by now how to get into the door of pretty much any club but was surprised at the crowd. It wasn't quite as hip and self-involved as most clubs; instead, it was actually sort of fun and even a little bit silly. The DJ sprinkled old songs in with the new ones, and there were even some people there who looked like they might venture above 14th street every once in a while. Above the dance floor was a window, apparently in Cowell's office, and Ryan saw him there at one point, staring down at the floor, smoking and looking smug. He'd seen pictures of the guy—handsome, though the hair was a bit odd and his t-shirts were too snug; Ryan mostly thought he could use a personal shopper.

He walked off the floor in search of something to drink when a girl walked up to him—pretty, with a snub nose and round cheeks. He was trying to decide how to play that out when she said, "Simon would like to see you in his office."

Ryan scowled, wondering if she meant Cowell, and then wondering why Cowell would want to see him or even know or care who he was. "Okay," Ryan said. "Can I get an Evian first?"

The girl leaned over the bar, and got a tray with a bottle of Red Stripe, then handed a bottle of Evian to Ryan. "This way," she said, and led him up the stairs behind the DJ booth, down a hall, and through a door with a bodyguard.

Sure enough, in the room was Simon Cowell, sitting behind a desk, a few other people draped across couches. He looked up. "Ah, Kelly, thank you, you can set that down on the desk. Everyone, if you could leave us alone for a moment?" he asked, smiling.

Ryan realized, suddenly and viscerally, that photographs didn't do Cowell justice. In person he exuded smug confidence and a kind of masculinity that Ryan could swear was pheromonal; it almost made him dizzy. He was small—didn't have more than an inch on Ryan himself—with dark piercing brown eyes. Ryan felt like he was being inspected, and almost stood up straighter, then stubbornly decided not to.

The crew—a girl with pink hair, a brunette, and a boy with wildly curly brown hair who snickered and patted Ryan's shoulder as he walked by—left with Kelly, who shut the door behind them. Simon walked in front of the desk and leaned against it, lighting a cigarette and offering Ryan one.

"No thank you," he replied.

"So," Cowell said, "what does the Times or MTV want with me?"

"How do you know who I am?" Ryan asked.

Simon shrugged. "I have people," he said.

"You're generating some talk, so I thought I'd check it out," he said.

Simon raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"And, it's a nice place," he said. "Good music, fun crowd, I'm sure you'll do well."

"And?" he asked.

"Well," Ryan said, "you've got a pop band doing well in Europe, and a few acts with modest success here. You haven't really proven you know how to break someone in America, but you do seem to have an eye for talent. If I were a singer, I could do a lot worse."

"Is that what you're planning to write?" he asked.

"Why?" Ryan asked. "Worried?"

"Not at all," Simon said, shaking his head. "From what I've seen of your work, you're thorough and fair. And frankly, I've failed in the past and I will fail again; I've succeeded in the past and I'll succeed again. Whatever you write will only hasten or slow down the inevitable, but it's not likely to change the outcome."

"Then you'll see what I write when I write it," Ryan replied.

"All right." Simon went to the window and closed the curtains. "And you?" he asked.

"And me what?"

"And what do you want with me?" he asked.

"I—I don't know that I want anything with you," Ryan said, confused. "I just met you."

"Sometimes that's all it takes," Simon said. "Sometimes it's more than enough."

"Is this how you usually pick up men?" Ryan asked.

"No, I've never done this before, actually," he replied.

Ryan cocked his head. "Aren't you married? To some broadway dancer?"

He smiled. "You've done your research," he said.

"You haven't, if you really think I go for married men who are so full of themselves they think I'll fall for them at first sight."

"Not as a class, no," Simon replied. "Just me."

"You?" Ryan asked, annoyed. "I do have standards, you know. Maybe if your clothes fit you better, or you went to the gym occasionally, or got a haircut that wasn't straight out of the 50s."

Simon looked at him. "And exactly how long did it take to achieve that, er, _effect_ with your hair? Is it so stiff that it will actually break off in my fingers?"

"At least it _is_ a style, instead of a total lack of style."

Simon grinned even broader. "You're not going to go down without a fight, are you?"

"No," Ryan admitted. "Would you?"

"Of course not," he said. "More fun that way."

"This is _fun_?" Ryan asked.

"Isn't it?" Simon replied.

* * *

[Alanis Morissette | Head Over Feet](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Head_Over_Feet/5480930)

_26 February 1996_

Kris woke up on Monday morning, still in Ryan's bed. While he remembered that they'd passed out in some kind of crumpled heap, they'd migrated a bit since then. Adam was off on one side of the bed, Ryan in the middle, and he'd curled up into a ball on the other side. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

It wasn't what he had expected, that was for damn sure. But it was also true that while he'd had some sexual encounters with other people after the divorce, he hadn't shared a bed with anyone since Katy. Yet here he was, in his boxers, with two other men in their underwear as well; they'd gotten Ryan out of his pj's when Adam started ranting about skin-to-skin contact. It was a chillier evening than it had been the past few nights, so they'd buried under an enormous comforter with their legs entwined and watched the second half of _120 Minutes_ and whatever late night thing had come on after that, and made fun of each other when they got hard-ons from the touching, and teased Adam about having a cock the size of a country ham, until Ryan finally fell asleep around 3am.

And there was nothing about it that wasn't nice, even if it was a little unorthodox. Kris looked at the clock—10:30, Ryan would have to be up soon—and slipped out of the bed, wrapping himself in a sweater before brushing his teeth and then heading downstairs to make coffee. He'd leave breakfast to Adam—he wasn't as good at eggs as the others—and was wishing he'd thought to put on some socks when he heard steps on the stairs.

"Good morning," Adam said, yawning, his hair sticking up every which way. Kris resisted the urge to smooth it down, not that he could quite reach the top of Adam's head anyway. Adam reached across him to grab a mug, and leaned into his ear. "You look nice in my sweater," he said.

Kris smiled, and tried to be cool. "It was the first thing I grabbed," he replied.

Adam just chuckled. "Seriously, you're an angel for getting up and making coffee," he said.

Kris shrugged. "I kinda like mornings," he said. He hopped up onto the counter to get a little more even with Adam.

Adam leaned against the counter next to Kris, and they both watched the coffee dripping down into the pot. He seemed very close, though they weren't touching; it was like Kris had an additional sense that knew where Adam was all the time without even having to look at him. He took a deep breath. "So I've been thinking," he began.

"Yeah?" Adam asked.

"After this is over, you know, and we're not staying here anymore?" Kris turned to look at Adam. "I'd like to take you out to dinner."

Adam looked up at him, surprised, then down at his empty mug. "You mean, like a date?" he asked, and it would have seemed shy, except this was Adam, who was never shy.

"Yeah, a date," Kris said.

Adam's lips turned up, just for a second. He pushed off the counter. "Would it be a nice dinner?"

"Nice enough," Kris replied, trying not to smile. "Not like, Teriyaki Boy. Maybe a movie after."

Adam turned, putting his mug on the counter, and leaning against it with his hands on either side of Kris's knees. "Well, I'll have to see if I'm available," he said.

"Of course," Kris said, nervously licking his lips.

Adam sighed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, you _would_ have to go and do that," he said, and leaned in to kiss Kris.

The first time Adam had kissed Kris, it was electric and amazing, but Kris had figured that was mostly because of the club and the makeup and Adam being a little drunk and feeling his power and Kris being new and all of that. But here they were, up against a kitchen counter on a winter Monday morning waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, and it was just as electric and amazing as before, if not more so. Kris's hands were on Adam's cheeks, and he wrapped his legs around Adam's waist, wanting to pull him closer. Adam obliged, bringing his hands up from the counter to embrace Kris.

After some amount of time—two seconds, two minutes, two years, who knew—they broke off, leaning their foreheads against each other and trying to catch their breath.

"Shit," Adam said, "I am _so_ jacking off in the shower."

Kris sucked in his lips, trying not to laugh, but didn't succeed, and they were giggling like that when Ryan came into the room. He raised an eyebrow. "What are you two up to?" he asked.

"Nothing!" Adam said, innocently, though they were still embracing.

"Coffee?" Kris asked.

Ryan just rolled his eyes at them. He walked over to a little remote in the wall and turned on the stereo, and Alanis started singing _I have no choice but to hear you_.

"You've seriously wired this entire house for sound," Adam said.

Ryan shrugged. "We're music people," he said. He turned to Kris and Adam. "I hate to break this up, but either give me coffee or move out of the way."

Kris grinned, bigger than he had in a while, and held up a mug. Adam took the hint and grabbed the pot, pouring out a cup for Ryan, leaving a bit of room at the top.

Ryan took the mug. "At least!" he said, going to the fridge for milk. "So Hernandez called this morning, and I'm told we have you to thank, Adam, for the DA taking DioGuardi off the case."

"Really? That's great!" Adam said. He'd turned a little, still standing between Kris's legs, leaning one hand on the counter right next to Kris's behind and draping the other over Kris's knee. Kris kept one hand on his back, and he thought how strange it was to get the cozy morning after when they haven't had the sex yet, and realized _this_ is what Ryan meant last night. This is what he missed.

"Yeah," Ryan said, taking a long drink of coffee and sighing loudly. "There was no hearing; he just called him up and explained the situation. There will be a hearing tomorrow, though—Hernandez is going to try to get bail again, and challenge the search."

"Wow," Kris said. "I didn't realize DioGuardi being off the case would change so much."

"Guess it does," Ryan replied. "So I'm gonna shower and head out to Riker's, and then to work. You guys are working tonight, right? Don't worry about me. I have a bunch of things to catch up on at the office."

Adam looked stern. "Well, I _am_ going to pack you lunch and dinner," he said. "I'm sure there's a fridge and a microwave at MTV. And good snacks, too."

Ryan tried to look annoyed, but his eyes were sparkling too much. "Fine, _Mom_," he said, and went back upstairs.

Adam turned to Kris. "You know, the song you sang last night was really beautiful," he said, pouring coffee into a mug and handing it to Kris. "Thanks for playing it for us."

"Thanks," Kris said. "I'm glad you liked it."

Adam poured a mug for himself. "I could see what you meant, about it not being about Sylvia Plath. It was more, like, wanting someone to come change your life."

"Yeah," Kris said, pleased. "But you always have to do it yourself."

Adam nodded. "You, um, giving any lessons today or anything?" he asked

"Nope," Kris replied. "Why?"

"Well, I've been working on this song, right? And I think it's pretty much there, lyrics and melody, and I'm about ready to sing it in public—I'm sure Nick will let me sneak a song into the showcase on Wednsday. I hear it with just a guitar, but," he paused, running a hand through his hair, "but I can't write that, you know, by myself." He looked Kris in the eye. "Allison helps me sometimes, or Carly, but this song—if you could? I mean, if you have time, today. I know you're getting ready for the showcase."

"I definitely have time," Kris said, smiling. "What's it about?"

He smiled a little. "It's about wanting to be so tough that nothing can hurt you," he said. "But you can't do that, either."

* * *

"Did these come in handy last time?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, actually," Simon said, taking the boxes. "I traded them for phone calls."

"Like the one you made to Adam and Kris on Saturday?" he asked.

"Ah, so they told you," he said. "And?"

"And nothing," Ryan said. "Nothing happened, but we'll talk about that later."

"That sounds ominous," Simon said.

"It should," Ryan said, then sighed. "I'm not mad. Just don't do it again."

"Okay," Simon said, straightening in his chair a little.

"Jesus, I don't want to fight with you, you moron," Ryan said.

"We aren't fighting," Simon said.

"Okay then." Ryan rubbed his temples. "I hope I at least look better."

"You do. You look rested and properly fed."

"Well, thank you. For sending them."

"I know you never take care of yourself, Ryan," he said. "So as usual I had to take care of you."

Ryan had to smile at that. "Well, we're taking care of you, too," he said. "You should see those kids; they've found out a lot already."

"Yes, Hernandez told me," he replied.

"And there's the hearing tomorrow." Ryan put up his hand. "Before you even say it, of course I'll be there, and you can't tell me not to go."

"All right, I won't," he said, "but my protest is on record."

"Duly noted," Ryan said, smirking.

"So," Simon said, "how was the show on Sunday night?"

Ryan grinned—Simon would _love_ hearing about Archie and Allie. "Simon, it's a small world."

* * *

[Curtis Mayfield | Pusherman](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Pusherman/496345)

David Cook felt like a proud papa. At last his little family was complete—awesome sexy boyfriend, hot wife, wife's fun new girlfriend, this kid singer who made him laugh every five seconds without even trying, and now, finally, his beloved band. After they dropped their stuff at Mike's hotel, he took them around the east village, all the places he loved, his own pad, and they spent most of the afternoon just generally raising hell. It was seriously awesome, and it was only going to get better.

After going to Paul's for milkshakes and burgers and onion rings, David's gang trouped over to Club Idol, where they were still setting up—it was only around eight, and Blake was playing the Superfly soundtrack—_you know me, I'm your friend, your main boy thick and thin_—which, given what had been going on lately seemed a little too on-the-nose to David. He introduced they guys around, and they had gotten into a conversation with Blake when Adam touched his arm.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Megan's here," Adam said. "I think—I was thinking about it today, and there's some stuff she said that doesn't make sense."

David nodded. "Well, let's talk to her."

They brought Megan into the store room—set up was pretty much done so there weren't too many people in and out of there. "Hey guys," she said nervously.

"Can we just go over a few things again?" Adam asked.

"Sure," Megan said. "Anything to help?"

"How are you and Alexis?" David asked.

She shrugged. "She wasn't happy, but I think more because I was keeping something from her. And I'm gonna quit, anyway."

Adam nodded. "You said that you were working last week, so you had to get the message from your sitter?"

"Yeah, and that was weird, because I never work on Wednesdays. But I was on the schedule to help with set up at AGT last week. Chris is usually so good about that. But then when I got there, they didn't need me anyway, so it was all for nothing."

Adam looked at David, then continued: "So you never work Wednesdays because you're working for Nigel?"

"No, actually," she said. "It's because our sitter isn't available; she has church group that day. If we need a sitter at night, we usually use the woman who runs the local daycare—better for the kids and all. So when I saw my name on that schedule I freaked out." She shook her head. "Thank god for Tatiana."

"Tatiana? So you're the ones she was babysitting for that night?"

"Yeah," she said. "I got the message from her."

"You weren't worried that she'd got the message wrong?" David asked.

"No, because everything sounded right," Megan said. "I went to the pick up location, and there were the people with the stuff, so I didn't worry about it."

"And when you got here, was the drawer empty?" David asked.

"Yeah," Megan said. "Totally empty, which was weird, because usually there are cigarettes in there for Simon. That's why I figured the drugs must be for him, because he'd emptied the drawer expecting them. I didn't start freaking out until I heard he'd been arrested." She looked up at them. "Is that it?"

"Yeah," Adam said. "Thanks."

After Megan left, Adam turned to David. "What was that you were trying to say, last night? When we were talking to Nick?"

"Oh, only that Megan couldn't have innocently taken the cigarettes out of the drawer, because they were removed on Tuesday and she didn't get the call until Wednesday."

"So if we figure out who could have taken them out—"

"Which isn't a lot of people since Idol is closed on Tuesdays," David said.

"—Then we know who framed Simon," Adam finished. "And it couldn't have been Megan even if it wasn't innocent, because she was at AGT practicing before the show—she wouldn't have had a chance to go to Idol after Ramiele put the cigarettes in the drawer but before Nick found them in the store room."

"Which finally, officially, clears Ryan," David said, "because he would have been at MTV. So we're left with who?"

"Well," Adam said, counting off on his fingers, "Simon, Chris Richardson, Ramiele if she's lying—she could have put them in for show and then taken them out, though I don't know why she would have bothered."

"Or Del Toro," David said. "Who has that big fat lease motive, but no connection to Nigel."

"Neither does Rich, to be honest, or Ramiele," Adam said. "But wait—Matt has keys and could have come in and out of there without anyone much noticing, and could have heard about how the whole thing works from Anoop, who seems to be telling everyone. And, he could easily have changed the schedule so that Megan would be working."

"Then Matt had better hope Anoop shows up," David said.

"Jesus," Adam said, "why didn't we think of Matt before?"

"We were looking at motive, mostly," he replied. "Matt had surely seen Ramiele or one of the other girls get into the drawer often enough. So has Rich."

"Kinda lets out Del Toro," Adam said.

"Pretty much," David agreed. "But Matt—I don't think he has anything against Simon."

"No," Adam said, "but he could have done it to freak out Anoop, maybe get him to stop dealing."

"Sloppy way to do it," David said. "Besides, then why would he have called the cops—he could have scared Anoop just by changing the drop. Simon would never have been arrested if someone hadn't tipped off the cops. He would have found the drugs and made a bitchy phone call to Nigel and that would have been the end of it."

"True."

"What I will do tonight," David said, "is check Megan's schedule with Rich. The posted schedules are all in pencil, so they're easy to change. But Rich keeps the master—if someone doesn't show up to shift that's what we check it against."

"Good call. At least then we'd know if it was Rich's doing, or someone actually changed it." Adam sighed. "I just wish we knew where Anoop was."

* * *

[Amber | This Is Your Night](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/This_Is_Your_Night/1198800)

Adam was feeling pretty fucking good. Ryan was in a much better headspace and had seen his man today, so that was pretty well taken care of. David had stopped being such a bitch, mysteriously, which made the whole detective thing a lot easier. They were getting closer to working out who had framed Simon, which would make everyone happier. And best of all, way out ahead of the rest, Kris Allen had asked him out on a date.

A date. Like they were sixteen, or something. Though given that where Adam was at sixteen, he couldn't date cute boys, he didn't feel too badly about that.

Besides, the writing session was kind of amazing. They were very different as musicians—Adam couldn't imagine that they'd actually directly collaborate on anything—but they both had the ability to help someone else get to their goal. Kris had played him a few other songs he'd written, and Adam had been pleased that he could make a few suggestions here and there. And it was just—Adam had never felt both completely turned on by someone and completely comfortable with them at the same time, never thought that sexiness and coziness could coexist. It was downright strange.

"Well," he said, seeing some actual teenagers approaching him. "You two spend all day making out?" he asked.

Archie and Allie just giggled, but they were holding hands, and Adam was pretty sure Allie had a hickey on her neck.

"Fine, Archuleta," he said, "steal my girl. But if you're doing more than making out, I don't want to know, and I hope you're being smart about it."

"Jeez!" Archie said. "We're not—oh my heck, that's not what we're doing!"

Adam turned to Allie. "Seriously? That's the way you seriously used to talk?"

"Fuck you, Lambert," she said, giving him the finger.

"_That's_ my girl," he said, smiling. "I was beginning to worry."

"Whatever," Allie said, rolling her eyes. "You gonna stamp us, Miss Thang?"

"Oh, you mean you want to get in _for free_?" he asked. "Gee, I don't know if I can do that. Do you have ID to show Mr. Sarver here?"

"Come _on_, Adam!" Allie said, and stamped one foot in protest.

"Oh my god, you are so adorable!" he said. "Okay, give me your hands." He stamped them, and they turned to walk inside. "Hello?" Adam asked. "Manners!"

Archie turned around. "Thanks Adam!" he said, but Allie just gave him the finger again, over her shoulder.

Yeah. Life was pretty fucking good.

And then, at about 1 am, the last piece of the puzzle finally, _finally_ walked through the fucking door.

As usual, Anoop Desai was dressed like some strange blend of Tupac and Nas, and if he didn't get the whole east coast-west coast thing, Adam sure as hell wasn't going to explain it to him, but seriously, Adam would never let him into the damn club dressed like that if he didn't know him. He was a handsome guy, too, funny and friendly (though a lot of dealers were that), but the fashion sense, just: no. His dad was some kind of math prof down south—the usual first generation Indian thing—but there was also real money coming from somewhere, since everyone knew Anoop wasn't making all of the money he had off dealing a few thou in junk every week.

"Yo, my brotha," Anoop said, giving him one of those handshake hugs. " 'Sup?"

"We've been waiting for you," Adam said.

"Yeah, man," Anoop said. "Cause I'm the start of the par-tay!"

Adam had to grin at that, because there was no way that Anoop said this shit and was actually serious about it. "Come on," he said, walking over to the coat check where Cook was hanging out with Jasmine. "Honey?"

The girl looked up and god, she was so cute, not quite sure what she wanted to be singing yet, so Cowell had shoved her into the coat check to keep her relatively safe. "Yes, Adam?" she said, smiling.

Adam cocked his head, then went around to her side of the counter. He took off his frock coat and the royal blue brocade suit jacket he was wearing underneath it, and put the jacket on over her knee-length dress. He rolled up the sleeves just so, piled her hair up into his top hat (and carefully fluffed his own hair) and put his own scarf around her neck. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his eyeliner.

"You actually carry that around with you?" David asked.

Adam was carefully and quickly drawing thick Cleopatra lines across Jasmine's eyelids. "You never know," he said. "Where's your lipstick, sweetie?"

She poked around in her bag and pulled out a black tube.

Adam gasped. "Viva Glam? Good girl, you've been listening," he said, and Jasmine lit up. He reapplied it, much thicker than she'd been wearing it, and had her blot on one of the unused check tickets. Then he stood back to examine his work. "Great. Now go out there, you've watched me work the door for months now. Just let in anyone who looks like fun, keep the losers out, and I'll be back in a minute, okay?"

She grinned. "Okay Adam!" she said.

"Don't smile," he said as she walked away. "Look bored." She turned around to him and gave him her best bored look, and he shouted back, "Just like that!"

David took Anoop by the elbow and brought him into the coat check closet, while Adam closed the window. "What's going on?" Anoop asked.

"Why aren't you out hustling tonight, Anoop?" Adam asked.

Anoop looked back and forth between David and Adam, already showing nerves. "I can't sell here, you guys know that," he said. "Nigel would kill me. And I mean that; he'd have me shot."

"That's our question," David said, stepping slightly closer to Anoop. "Why are you here? Why aren't you out making money?"

"You guys want some?" he asked. "Because it's actually pretty much spoken for—"

"Or you didn't get it in the first place," Adam said.

Anoop's eyes widened. "How—how did you—"

David waved his hand. "Never mind that now. Where was the drop supposed to be?"

"Hey," Anoop said, pressing into the back wall of the checkroom. "You know I can't tell you that."

Adam put his hand flat on the wall next to Anoop's head and leaned in. "Where was the _drop_, Anoop? Where did she tell you to go?"

"You mean you know all that? How it works?" he asked.

"Of course we do," David said. "Now tell us where the fucking dead drop was."

Anoop bit his lip, then sighed. "Stingy Lulu's," he said, meaning a hip diner not far from the club. "One of the booths. But it wasn't there when I got there, and I've been driving myself nuts trying to think where it is."

"You mean you haven't figured out where it went yet?" Adam said. "Come on now, Anoop, you're a bright boy. You've even disappeared for a few days—which, by the way, completely freaked out your buddy Matt—so I think you know exactly what happened to it."

Adam looked from one to the other, then slid down the wall on his back until he was crouching. "Shit."

"How'd you manage to hide from Nigel all this time, Anoop?" David asked squatting down to look him in the eye.

"Not to mention Matt," Adam added, leaning back against the counter.

"I saw Matt on Thursday night, he came to my place right after you guys closed up," Anoop said. "After he left, I grabbed some shit and went straight to our beach house at Hilton Head. No one knew I was there. I just didn't answer the phone, tried to figure out what to do."

"And what did you come up with?" David asked. "I'm curious."

Anoop swallowed hard. "I need to talk to Matt."

"Yeah, well," Adam said, "I'm not sure how much he wants to talk to you right now since you _ditched him_."

"Well," Anoop said, looking off to the side, "I'm really sorry about that."

"And you're making him look pretty bad, actually," David said. "See, way we figure it, Matt could totally have set this whole thing up, since you can't keep your _mouth shut_ about how Nigel's drugs get around the city."

"Hey man, look" Anoop said, throwing his hands up, "I never told Matt about _any_ of that shit. People know he's my friend, and I didn't want anyone leaning on him. I wanted him to be able to say he didn't know anything."

"So you have a standing Friday night date with the guy, but you don't tell him anything. Right. And what do you do when you go out, anyway? You pick up girls in front of him?" Adam asked.

"No, man, it's not like that. Bros before hos, right? I just like spending money on my friends. What's wrong with that?"

"Bros before hos, sure, Anoop. So you don't tell your bro, but you told like, every girl you fucked?" David asked.

"Of course not! Just the ones that gave me shit about the phone calls."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Kristy Lee and who else, Anoop?"

Anoop cocked his head. "You know about that? How do you know about that?"

David grabbed his shoulder. "Okay, I'm seriously losing patience with you, man. Who else?"

"I—I can't tell you," he said. "I just—trust me, there's no way she's mixed up in this."

The door opened then, and Matt burst through. "Where the _fuck_ have you been?" he shouted.

Anoop spring to his feet. "Hey, bro, I was just looking for you," he said, smiling nervously.

"Don't you bro me," Matt said, waving a finger. "What the fuck. Why didn't you tell me? You want me to sit around worrying after your ass?"

"No, of course not," Anoop said. "You're why I came back. I'm in so much trouble, man, I need your help."

"So you didn't come back for me," Matt said. "You just came back to get something from me, _like always_."

"Jesus," Anoop said. "It's not like that. Look, I'm sorry—I'm sorry I freaked out. I was trying to keep you away from it _like always_."

Matt stared at him, then shook his head. "You know what? I don't need this shit," he said, and stormed out of the room.

David pointed at the door. "You'd better go after him," he said. "And don't fucking leave town again, or it's gonna look _real bad_ for your boy."

Anoop furrowed his brow, confused for a moment, then nodded. "Thanks guys. I'll be around." He ran out of the room.

Adam shook his head. "Man, you know, Matt can be kind of annoying? But he doesn't deserve that shit."

David shrugged. "If it's what he wants?"

"I guess I should have known the other day with all his talk about closet cases," Adam said. "Whatever. Oh, did you talk to Rich?"

"Yeah," David said. "Someone definitely changed the schedule. Megan wasn't supposed to be working that day."

"Weird," Adam said, though he was too tired after dealing with Anoop to think it through. "Look, you want to meet again tomorrow? After Simon's hearing?"

"When is it?" he asked.

"Manhattan Criminal Court, 9am. We can meet you outside if you want to come too. Kris and I are going with Ryan."

"Sounds like a plan, man," David said.

They walked out of the room to get Jasmine and sure enough, just around the corner, there were Anoop and Matt, making out like teenagers up against the wall.

"That was quick," David said.

"Get a room, Giraud!" Adam shouted as they walked by, and got the finger from both of them.

* * *

_27 February 1996_

Turned out that getting DioGuardi off the case _was_ a big change—they allowed bail for Simon, and Ryan got him out soon after the morning hearing. The two took Kris, Adam and David around the corner from the courthouse to a diner for the celebratory breakfast, after which Simon invited them all back to the house. "Nice to have friends around," he said. I'm free now, I can get into Ryan's pants whenever I like."

"Oh, so now I'm easy," Ryan said.

"For me, anyway," Simon said, laughing.

Simon bolted for the shower as soon as they got back, and after some sitting around with another pot of coffee and some fat-free brownies that Adam had bought that didn't suck _exactly_, David said that maybe they should try to work out where they were with the case.

"Well," Ryan said, "there's a whiteboard in my office."

David, typically, took the pen; Adam, typically, rolled his eyes at this; Ryan, typically, just shook his head at the two of them, and Kris just shrugged at how quickly they'd all apparently learned their roles in this odd little foursome.

"Okay," David said, "where should we start?"

"How about with the very first thing the person had to do?" Adam asked. "Ugh, 'the person,' can't we give them a name?"

"Mary," David said.

Adam snickered. "Okay, Mary," he said.

Simon came in then, dressed. "Ooh, is this the case?" he asked. They nodded, and he went on, "Good work. Is Ryan still a suspect?"

"No, actually," David said.

"I'm not a good femme fatale, apparently," Ryan said.

"That's all right, darling," Simon said, kissing him on the forehead. "I like you anyway. Right, I'm going to go over to Idol; since it's dark tonight it's a good time to go over the books and catch up. I'll be back for dinner."

"Hey," Ryan said, "take your cell with you."

"Will do," Simon called out as he left.

"Okay," Adam said, "the first thing Mary had to do."

"Take the cigarettes out of Simon's office?" Ryan asked.

"No," Kris said. "Change the schedule so Megan had to work Wednesday set-up."

"Right, because the schedules are posted on Mondays," David said, writing that down. "What does that do? Gets Megan out of the house?"

"So she doesn't hear the message," Adam said. "Anyone could have called, and Tatiana wouldn't have known who they were, so they wouldn't have had to mimic the accent. They could have been any woman with a British accent."

"But how did they get rid of the real message," Kris said. "The one that would have sent Megan to Stingy Lulu's instead of Simon's office?"

"Well, that's a question," David said, writing it down. "Now, anyone could have changed that schedule who works at AGT, which is a lot of people."

"Yeah," Adam said. "Okay, next?"

"Next is the cigarettes," Kris said.

"Right, so taking the cigarettes out of the office and dumping them at AGT," David said. "And that's pretty narrow: C.Rich, Matt, technically Simon, Ramiele, or Mr. Del Toro. The first four more likely because they all knew how to open the drawer, and they all went over to AGT for Cherry Bomb's show that night."

"Put Kristy Lee and Tatiana in parenthesis," Adam said, "since they were at AGT, and they know how to open the drawer."

"Okay," David said. "Next?"

"Next is making the phone call," Ryan said. "Wednesday evening. Which anyone could have done, but they needed to know to do it, which means knowing Nigel's system."

Adam nodded. "So that's Anoop, Megan, Kristy Lee, and that mystery girlfriend Anoop isn't telling us about."

"Tatiana," Ryan said.

"What?" Adam asked.

"She mentioned it last night," Kris said. "I thought you knew, she's always yammering at you about something."

"I don't always listen?" Adam said.

"Well," Ryan said, "Tatiana dated Anoop. She said he didn't want anyone to know."

"Because he was ashamed of it, the asshole," Kris said.

Adam looked up at David. "That must be the girl he wouldn't tell us about," he said.

"Typical," David said, rolling his eyes. "He'd rather keep that quiet than tell the truth and help Matt, his so-called whateverthehell."

Adam looked up at the board. "Oh my god," he said.

"What?" David asked.

"Tatiana could have changed the schedule," Adam said.

"And she could have taken the cigarettes out of the drawer, using her father's keys to get into the office," David added.

"Which means she probably also knew about the lease," Kris said.

"And she didn't even need to make the phone call," Adam said, standing up, "or suppress the first one—"

"Because she was in Megan's house!" David said. "And she made sure she would be in Megan's house by being there when Megan saw the schedule."

"As Simon's assistant she would have known that Megan needed Wednesdays off," Adam said.

"And she would have known about the dead drop because of Anoop," David said.

"Wait, but how did she know it was Megan?" Ryan asked.

"She just had to hear another phone call," Adam said, "and wait at the drop to see who showed up."

"Taking a chance, wasn't she," Kris said, "that Megan would still be delivering to Anoop?"

"That was a lucky break," David said. "If some dealer had said something sooner, that trail would only have led back to Megan."

"Jesus," Ryan said suddenly. "Simon's at Idol, by himself. And she must know by now that he's out." He grabbed his cell and dialed quickly. "He's not answering."

They all stared at each other, then bolted out of the room. "God, can we even get a cab over here?" Ryan was saying.

"Why can't you people remember," Kris said, "that I have a car?"

It was snowing yet again, so Kris was glad he'd learned his way around the city—it was pretty quick to zip down ninth ave and then fly across town on 18th street before dropping down into the east village. He could tell that Ryan wanted to be there ten minutes ago, but maybe they were just panicking. After all, what could Tatiana really do? She knew Simon was out of jail, but he wasn't free of the charges. Her plan might yet go through.

Ryan was in the front seat, staring straight ahead, as Adam and David shouted from the back, maybe back seat driving, maybe arguing with each other, either way Kris was ignoring them. Thank god there was a space right in front of the Club; he pulled in and came to a screeching halt, skidding a little on the snow. "Y'all get out Ryan's side," he said, and reached for the Club which sat at Ryan's feet.

The others ran into Idol, and Kris wasn't far behind. The lights were on, and when Kris looked up into the office, his heart dropped.

Simon was standing, back to the window, his hands raised. In front of him was Tatiana, holding a gun.


	7. Gaudy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone puts on a show.

[Duran Duran | Come Undone](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Come_Undone/21910471)

"Jesus," David said. He walked over to pick up the phone behind the bar. "Damn, she cut the lines or some shit."

Kris pulled out his cell. "Yeah, I have an emergency? There's a woman here with a gun threatening a friend of mine."

All their eyes were on the window to the office so they missed what Ryan did at first. "Ryan?" David hissed.

Adam looked over and there he was, climbing quickly up the staircase to the office.

"Jesus," David said again, and the three of them went after him, Kris still on the phone to the cops. They were at the top of the steps when Ryan got to the office, and he turned and put his hand out, motioning them to stay back. Kris sat down at the top of the staircase, so he could keep talking without anyone hearing him, but Adam and David crept over to the open doorway. Music drifted out of the little radio on the desk: _who do you need, who do you love_.

Simon had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, but otherwise he seemed pretty calm, considering the circumstances. "Come on now, darling," he said. "I'm sure we can work this out."

"_No_," Tatiana said, and she sounded like she was crying. "No, we can't. We tried that, remember? When you said you'd help me after you _fired me_?"

Ryan was walking into the room, slowly, slowly, and Adam hoped that the window wasn't too reflective. Simon hadn't reacted—he was being very, very cool.

She sniffled. "And I watched you playing around with all these other singers, and they can't sing like me and _you know it_, Simon! And I just waited and waited, and then you know what? I was tired of waiting."

"I'm sorry, darling," Simon said.

"_Don't call me that_," she shouted, and Adam could see her hand wavering. Ryan was about three steps behind her now.

"Please," Simon said. "You have friends here—"

"No I _don't_," she said, sounding more tired than angry. "They all think I'm strange. I had a boyfriend and now he won't even admit he knows me. What kind of friends are those?" she asked.

A sound came from inside the club and Tatiana started. "What? Who's there?" She turned, but by then Ryan was close enough to push her arms up, pointing the gun to the ceiling. They wrestled for a moment with the gun before Ryan grabbed it, throwing it to the floor and kicking it away, and pulling Tatiana into his arms.

The others rushed in then, and David went straight to the gun. "It isn't even loaded," he said.

Ryan continued to hold on to Tatiana, who'd crumpled, pulling him down onto the floor with her. "Don't let them take me," she whispered. "I'm scared."

"I know," Ryan said, patting her hair. "We all get scared. I know I do. But you did some things that scared other people—me, Simon, all our friends. So now we have to figure out what to do, okay?"

She lifted her head off his shoulder, and he brushed the hair out of her face. "Okay," she said.

"The cops are coming," Kris said, "so you'd better figure out what that is real quick."

"I think you know what to tell them, Tatitana," Ryan said, "so that other people don't get into trouble, don't you?"

She nodded, as the police came in the door. "We got a report of a woman with a gun?" one asked.

Ryan shook his head. "She's just a girl," he said.

* * *

[Billie Holiday | I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/I_Ve_Got_My_Love_To_Keep_Me_Warm/196831)

In the end, Tatiana told the cops that she had planted the drugs herself, drugs she had found at Stingy Lulu's earlier that day. Her father was called, and arrangements were made for her to get a psychiatric evaluation before any other steps were taken.

The guys went back to Ryan's house, exhausted, and sat listening to jazz and talking over much-needed drinks while one of the meals Adam had made earlier heated in the oven.

"So Anoop and Megan were the keys to the whole thing?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, and to her credit, Tatiana read them pretty well," David said. "She knew that Anoop would react by taking off, and otherwise not letting anyone know that his drugs had gone missing."

"And even if Megan had been delivering to some other dealer," Adam said, "that person would just have raised holy hell about it, that may or may not have been believed by Nigel, or would have freaked out the same way Anoop did."

"Where she guessed wrong was with Megan," Kris said. "Tatiana knew Megan hadn't told Alexis, and she thought that Megan would keep quiet to keep Alexis from finding out. But Megan told me, and that turned out to be the key."

"Well and Tatiana gave herself away," Adam said. "I'm not sure Anoop would ever have admitted that he dated her."

Kris shook his head. "What a jerk. I hope Matt knows what he's doing."

"Probably not, knowing him," Adam replied.

Simon said, "Well before I'm much older, I'm going to call Nigel and tell him that Megan and Anoop are no longer working for him. Not that any of this is actually his fault, but I'm sure his guilty conscience extends that far."

David cocked his head. "Okay, Simon, what _is_ it that you have on him?"

Simon smiled. "Oh, I'll never tell."

"Don't look at me," Ryan said. "I don't know, either, and I don't want to know."

"All Ryan knows is how to find Nigel, in case of an emergency like this one," Simon said. "The rest is in a sealed envelope in the hands of my lawyer. If anything happened to me, it would all come out, so it's in Nigel's best interests to keep me safe." The phone rang, and Simon looked at the caller ID. "Ah, speak of the devil," he said, answering. "Hello! … Yes? … Yes, that is wonderful news. … Right, first thing tomorrow morning. I'll definitely be there. … Excellent, excellent. Thank you so much, David. … Right. Bye!" He grinned as he hung up the phone.

"Well?" Ryan asked.

"Well, it appears that the DA's office wants to wash their hands of this case as soon as possible. Hernandez's challenge on the search looked like it might go through, and now with Tatitana's admission of course the entire thing falls apart. And without the idea that I would give them information on Nigel—which, by the way, I don't have; I have no idea how he runs his business—none of it is worth their time. Hernandez expects the case against me to be dismissed tomorrow, and for no charges to actually be filed against Tatiana." He paused. "Though I hope she can get some help, poor thing."

"Me too," Kris said.

Simon smiled at him. "Anyway, I'm going to close Idol tomorrow so everyone can come to the showcase, and we can make it a real party. Nick would like that; he loves variety shows. I'll go call him now; he can't have opened yet."

"No, wait," David said. "Let us plan it. You shouldn't have to do any of it. Me, and these guys, and Carls and Nick, we'll work it out."

Simon raised one eyebrow. "So all of you are going to team up to put on a show?" he asked.

"What can I say?" Adam said. "Getting you sprung brought us all together."

"Goody, just like Andy Hardy," Simon said, rolling his eyes.

So Ryan hit him over the head with a newspaper.

* * *

"It's already been converted from two flats into a duplex," Michael was saying, "so there's plenty of room for all of us."

There were three bedrooms, two upstairs and one downstairs, a balcony, a music room for Carly and David, plus an office for Michael. Other than Ryan's house, David didn't think he'd been in such a large place since he left Missouri. "We'll have to buy a lot of furniture," David said.

"That's fine," Michael said.

Carly was there too, her girlfriend Amanda in tow. "The kitchen's really nice," Carly said. "Maybe one of us will actually cook once in a while."

David walked around the living room, touching the walls, staring out the windows at the flurries floating by, the twin towers looming large in the downtown view. He sensed Michael coming up behind him. "I know you don't want to go uptown," he said, "so I figured TriBeCa."

"Yeah," he said.

Michael turned him around. "Is it too much?" he asked.

David shrugged. "I mean, it isn't—we need the space, if we're all going to live here," he said. "It's just—"

"Different?" Michael asked.

"Kinda overwhelming," David replied. "I mean, I'm used to living in shitty places or out of a van for months at a time. Not like this."

"Well, you should get used to it," Michael said, "because you're gonna be a rock star soon, and then you'll buy your own place anyway."

"Says you," David said.

"Says everyone," Michael replied, "and you know it."

David sighed.

"Once we're all in it, I'm sure it won't feel too big," Carly said.

"C'mon, Davey," Michael said.

David looked out at the view again, and smiled. "Let's take it," he said.

* * *

"Hey, so I'm back home," Kris said.

"You got your boss out of trouble?" Katy asked.

"Yeah, it all kinda worked out," he said.

"It all?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, and hesitated, though he didn't know why—she was the one who'd encouraged him. "Yeah, I um, I asked Adam out."

"So I guess he said yes," Katy said.

"Yeah, you know, he actually did."

"Of course he did," she said. "He's not a moron."

Kris laughed. "How do you know he's not a moron?"

"Because you like him," she said.

"Yeah," Kris said.

"Nervous about the showcase?" she asked.

"A little," he admitted. "It's been all changed around. Now it's a party with all kinds of people playing. I'm not sure if that's more pressure or less, though."

"You need to start recording things for me," she said. "I miss hearing you sing."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Unless you're writing bitter songs about the divorce," she said. "I don't need to hear those."

"Bitter? Nah, not bitter," he said. "Sad, maybe."

"Sad I can handle," she replied.

"Okay. I will. And you? Auditions?"

"I have a couple more," she said. "It's actually going pretty well. And I have classes, so it's busy."

"The Crest thing?"

"Friday," she replied.

Kris tapped his fingers. "So, how's your bartender?"

"Oh, he's fine," she replied.

"He's not _dreamy_?" he asked, mimicking some of Katy's high school friends.

"I don't say that anymore!" Katy protested. She was silent for a moment, then said, "Okay, maybe he's kinda dreamy."

Kris laughed. "Tell me all about him," he said.

* * *

Adam laid back on his bed. "Home sweet motherfucking home," he said.

"Sure you wouldn't rather stay in a nice house in Chelsea?" Allie asked.

"Nah," he said. "Then who would watch over you?"

"I can look out for myself, thanks," she said.

"I don't know about that," Adam said. "Pretty sure all you've done the past three days is work and make out with Archie."

"Hey!" Allie said. "I rehearsed my fucking song!"

"Yeah, that's work, Allie," Adam said.

"Oh. Okay, right." She sighed. "Well, I missed you."

"I missed you too, sweetie," Adam said.

"Nah," Allie said. "_You_ were too busy kissing on _Kris_."

"One kiss!" he said. "One kiss! Jeez, last time I tell _you_ anything."

She giggled. "So when's the big date?" she asked.

"Friday before work," he said.

"And after if you're lucky," she replied.

"I'm _always_ lucky, honey," he said.

"Whatever," she said. "So does this mean you'll be in Williamsburg all the time?"

"_No_, he said. "I mean, I don't think so. Why, you want to make sure you can have Archie over all the time?"

"Seriously!" she said. "It is _Not. That. Serious._"

"Seriously it's not serious? Did you really just say that?"

"Shut up, Lambert," she said.

"Whatever, you love me."

"Maybe," she said.

"You missed me," he went on.

"Not really," she said. "I was too busy making out with Archie." She grinned.

"Ew," Adam said. "Maybe I _will_ spend all my time in Brooklyn."

"No you won't," she said. "You'd miss me."

"Yeah," Adam said. "I would."

* * *

After the hearing Wednesday morning, when Simon was finally, formally, cleared of all charges, Ryan decided to work from home. He'd said it was because there was a lot of paperwork and reading to catch up on, but he was sure Giuliana knew that he just wasn't ready to let Simon out of his sight yet. He came downstairs from his office to see Simon walking into the kitchen talking on the phone.

"Well, I certainly appreciate that," he was saying. "Right, well, I'll let Hernandez know. Thanks."

"Who was that?" Ryan asked.

"Del Toro, of all people," Simon said. "Wanted to let me know how sorry he was, and that he had no idea that clause in my lease had caused problems. Apparently he thought they were standard or some such."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Well, at least he's not trying to kick you out."

"No, he said that he'd rather me than some chain franchisee or mall store. Guess he's more of a New Yorker than I'd thought."

"Did he say anything about Tatiana?" Ryan asked.

"Just that she was going away for a rest," Simon replied as he opened the freezer. "_What_ is all this?" he asked.

"Adam," Ryan said. "He made that chili we had last night, and he took the other dishes and put them into individual containers for me. Stews, mostly, and this veggie loaf thing."

Simon poked at a frozen slice of loaf. "Well, the chili wasn't _bad_," he admitted.

"Hey, you sent them here to take care of me," Ryan said. "I don't know why you're surprised that the freezer is full of healthy food."

"Hmm," Simon said, non-committally.

"Speaking of which," Ryan said, walking around Simon and hopping up on the counter, "what was with that whole sex thing?"

"What sex thing," Simon asked, closing the freezer in favor of the fridge.

"The whole, 'let's have some young men over to give Ryan an orgasm because I'm in jail' thing," Ryan said.

Simon pulled out the leftover chili and closed the door. "I just wanted to make sure you were being fully taken care of, Ryan," he said.

"I didn't need to be taken care of like that," Ryan said.

Simon got two bowls out of the counter and started dishing chili into them. "Okay," he said.

"No, I'm serious," Ryan said.

"I know you are, darling," Simon said, continuing to fuss with lunch.

"_Simon_."

Simon put the spoon down. "What?"

"I don't want to be with anyone else if you're not there," Ryan said.

"Even if—"

"No one else, Simon," Ryan said.

Simon looked at Ryan. "All right," he said. He slid the bowls into the microwave. "Perhaps I overreacted."

"Perhaps you were being ridiculous," Ryan replied.

"I'm always ridiculous," Simon said. "Why should this time be any different?" He stood between Ryan's legs.

Ryan smiled. "I also don't want anyone else in that bed if I'm not in it, either."

"Ryan," Simon said, "that goes without saying. Wouldn't be as much fun."

Ryan chuckled. "Good to know," he said. "You know, the other day I came into this kitchen and Kris was sitting on this very counter, snogging Adam, and I was very jealous."

"Of whom? Adam or Kris?"

"Both, I guess. I mean, it's my damn counter, and I've never sat on it and snogged anyone."

"Well," Simon said, grinning, "I can help you with that."

* * *

[Everything But The Girl | Missing](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Missing_Todd_Terry_Remix_/7191404)

Kris sat at the end of the bar at AGT and tried not to think about how nervous he was. Adam had wandered off, as he was wont to do, so Kris just nursed a club soda and watched the club fill up with invited guests. Pre-show music came out of the speakers as people milled around, just innocuous dance-pop, though he couldn't help but think of Ryan and Simon as Tracey Thorn sang _and I miss you like the deserts miss the rain_.

The man of the hour sat at a table on a riser just off stage right, and folks had been coming by to congratulate him as they came in. Simon was in his element, grinning, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Ryan was at his side, rolling his eyes more often than not, but you didn't have to have lived with the guy to see the genuine affection underneath the teasing. Kris had never known a male couple like Ryan and Simon before—older, together, basically married—and he wondered if he'll be there, someday. Maybe even married again. Okay, fine—despite everything, like having only shared two kisses and a plan for a date, he wondered if he'd be there with Adam. Sure, he was eccentric, but then so was Simon Cowell and Ryan seemed able to handle him well enough.

Jasmine was working the door tonight as a kind of trial run, pretty safe since it was all invitation only but it would give her a chance to try to act intimidating. She'd made up her own outfit for the evening, a bowler hat and a short dress under a long jacket. Kristy Lee had come by early to watch over the girl and give her some pointers, so she was there when a decidedly unhip man came to the door.

"Are you sure you have an invitation?" Jasmine asked with all the haughtiness she could manage.

The man looked confused. "Yes, of course I—Kristy Lee, come on!"

"Jasmine, your instincts are right on," Kristy Lee says. "He's wearing a blue suit and a red tie and brown shoes, and his glasses aren't even a cool shape. Definitely outer borough. But," and here she started smiling, "he's also my boyfriend Danny, who didn't have me there to tell him how to dress for the club. So yeah, he's invited."

"Thanks for that, at least," Danny said, coming in past the rope.

"Gosh," Jasmine said.

Kris was still snickering when Adam returned to him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Kris said, taking his feet down from the stool he was saving. "It's starting, anyway."

"Sit here," Adam said, "since I can see over your head."

Kris moved to the other seat, and as he turned to face the stage he noticed that Adam had stretched out his legs, putting one foot on either of the side rails of Kris's stool. He wasn't sure what to think about that, and so decided not to.

Up on stage, Scott was at the piano, playing a bit of introduction, and Nick came out to general applause. He was wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt and trousers, but had a black boa wrapped around his shoulders. He perched on top of the piano like a chanteuse and chatted up the crowd, not unlike his usual bit but this time liberally sprinkled with references to Simon's experiences at Rikers, and whether he could "ever be happy with Ryan again after being the bitch of prisoner #29736."

Cherry Bomb went on next, mostly reprising their set from the other night, which had included a few songs that Simon hadn't heard before. Kris had to get up and dance because the band was tighter than he'd ever seen them. Alexis and Megan drove the music forward as Brooke and Carly played off each other, Brooke bubbly and smiling, Carly stomping around moodily.

Archie and Allison had made their way to the back of the club, and like Kris were working out their nerves by dancing around to the music. Cherry Bomb took a quick break to set something up, and Kris leaned over to Archie. "Hey, so are you going to stay in Cook's old place?"

"No, actually, I'm moving in with Brooke," he said. "In Alphabet City."

"Ooh, so," Kris said, grinning, "easy walking distance for you two, huh?"

"Whatever," Archie said, giggling.

Kris turned, wondering why Adam hadn't offered up a wisecrack, but he was gone. "Where did he go?" he asked Allie, who shrugged.

"All right," Carly said, "now we have a friend of the band coming up who's singing a song by one of my countrymen." Someone in the crowd shouted "Yeah" at that point, possibly Michael, and Carly shouted, "That's right!" as Adam climbed up on the stage.

"Friends of mine have threatened me with bodily harm when I admit I'm not much into this band, including the woman standing behind me with the guitar," he said, laughing nervously. "But one of them inspired me to find at least one of their songs to sing, and while I've made a few changes"—the crowd laughed then, as Adam _always_ made changes—"I think it suits me pretty well. So, thanks, Kris."

Kris's eyes widened in surprise. Adam really wasn't the type to be persuaded into doing anything he didn't already want to do and Kris was amazed that Adam was singing a song because of _him_. It took Kris a minute to recognize it, but as soon as Adam sang _is it getting better, or do you feel the same_ Kris broke into a grin. While Adam was certainly singing _for_ him, as Kris listened he thought the lyrics applied more to the situation with David Cook than anything else. He found himself moving forward through the crowd, easily slipping past an audience transfixed by Adam's performance, until he got to the side of the stage. He'd loved the song before—it was a classic—but hearing it from Adam just meant that much more.

The crowd burst into applause when Adam finished, and while he was gracious, he scrambled off the stage the moment he could and came straight to Kris. "Well?" he asked, his fixed smile the only outward sign of nerves.

Kris smiled wider. "I loved it."

"Yeah?" Adam asked, smiling for real this time. "Really?"

"Really, it was great" Kris said, and pulled him down into a kiss. "Thank you." He took a moment, resting his head against Adam's, before Adam pulled him into his chest, and Kris couldn't get over how easy it was to stand in the circle of his arms.

"Get a room!" Carly called out, walking past them off the stage. Alexis and Megan were just behind her.

"So did I tell you?" Megan asked Kris. "I did some graphic design work for Simon a while back and he suggested I freelance! We already have the kids in daycare most of the time, so I could work a few days a week and still be here at night."

"That's great!" Kris said.

Alexis wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "Should keep her off the street," she said, smiling.

Nick wandered toward them then, Archie just behind him. "Oh look," he said, "it's like you're a matched set—tall, short, tall, short, like bookends!" He grinned, then scowled immediately. "Now get outta my way, I gotta _show_ to run here!"

Kris and Adam stepped aside—not too far, since Kris would be on soon—as Megan and Alexis walked around in front of the stage to a table Amanda had reserved for her girl Carly's band. Brooke came down off the stage then, and gave Archie a big hug. "You're gonna be great!" she said.

"Thanks!" he said. "I mean, thanks for your help and stuff."

"You didn't need any help," Brooke said.

Nick was beckoning, and Kris and Adam reached out to pat him on the shoulder as he walked onto the stage.

[Pat DiNizio | This Guy's In Love With You](http://lala.com/zSzi)

"Okay," Nick said, "we have a few new singers here tonight, and this is the first one," he said as Archie settled himself at the piano. "God, look at him, he's so adorable I could eat him with a spoon."

"Keep your grubby hands off him!" Cook shouted from the back.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Miss Cook wants him for herself apparently," he replied, to general laughter. "See, we're just making him blush, oh, isn't he just precious, Simon? Okay, honey, I'll stop now. David Archuleta, people!"

Archie giggled a little self-consciously at the applause. Then he looked up and found Allie, who was standing next to Adam, and she shouted, "Let's go Archie!"

So David started playing, and after a bit of piano intro, he sang _you see this guy? this guy's in love with you_. It was perfect, a classic pop song, and both heartfelt and, actually, a little innocent. When he sang _if not I'll just die_ it was less that Archie was some overdramatic adolescent but maybe that love made everyone feel that way.

At least, Kris had certainly been feeling that way lately. He leaned into Adam, who hadn't let go of him, and whispered, "Perfect song for him."

He smiled. "Thanks!" Then he nudged Allie with his elbow. "Aww, he's singing to _you_!" But surprisingly, or perhaps not, he couldn't even get a rise out of her. She was transfixed, as though she'd never seen him sing, even though she'd been around most of the time he'd been rehearsing. He finished, and she gave him a long whistle. Kris looked over at Simon and of course Adam was right about his being a sucker for pop ballads; he was grinning, pleased.

"Wasn't he great?" Nick asked, as Archie left the stage, and the applause started up again.

Kris had been so distracted by Adam and the performances that he'd forgotten until that moment that he was on next. He felt his stomach drop. Simon hadn't heard him sing yet, and now here he was, getting ready to perform three songs at a showcase for him. He grabbed his guitar from where it had been sitting just to the side of the stage.

"Ready?" Adam asked Kris, a hand on either of Kris's shoulders.

Kris nodded. "Nope," he said, trying to smile.

"You'll be _great_," Adam replied.

"Okay, we've got another little cutie for you," Nick was saying. "I know! The woods are thick with 'em! But I think someone we all know has his claws in this one, sorry girls. Kris Allen!"

Kris climbed up onto the stage, grateful for the applause. A three-song set in front of a receptive audience should have been nothing after singing for hours at a time in Union Square station to commuters who weren't really listening, but he wasn't used to people paying attention quite yet. He cleared his throat. "Well, since I work at a disco," he said, "I thought I'd start with Donna Summer." He started up "She Works Hard for the Money," and loved once again that no one could place it until he actually started singing—and then they started clapping along and smiling. So far, so good.

He walked over to the piano. "Um, this is a song I wrote," he said by way of introduction. He'd never actually played "Sylvia Plath" in front of more than a couple of people, so he felt kind of exposed, but heck, it's not like he said, "this is how I felt after my divorce." But for a soft, slow song in a rock club, it went over well, and he smiled in relief at the applause. He invited Brooke up on the stage then, and she got behind the synth to play the staccato string line alongside his piano for "Ain't No Sunshine," and it killed the same way it had when he auditioned for Nick. He finally dared to look at Simon, and he was beaming, and applauding as heartily as the others. Kris smiled and heaved a sigh of relief.

[Radiohead | Bullet Proof … I Wish I Was](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Bullet_Proof_I_Wish_I_Was/7483714)

"I think Adam has in his contract that he gets to sing in everyone else's set," Kris said, and the crowd laughed. "But this time I'm just the accompanist. He wrote this song." Adam came up on stage, bringing two chairs with him, and sat on one as Kris settled into the other with his guitar. He waited, and at Adam's nod, began to play. Adam had been a little nervous in rehearsal but he was rock solid now, as though he were the opposite of Kris, coming alive with the attention.

Besides, the song was great, even if it made Kris's heart ache just a little to hear Adam sing it: _limb by limb and tooth by tooth, tearing up inside of me, every day, every hour, wish that I was … was bullet proof_. Adam wasn't even in costume tonight, at least not for him—leather jacket, jeans, t-shirt, boots, pretty standard rock show stuff—and his affect, his performance, was as stripped bare as the song was. It was as if he were saying, "Yes, I can do the big dramatic song, but I can do this, too."

Kris glanced at Simon, and he was quiet, just staring, and Kris wasn't sure if that was good or not—that is, until the end, when Simon got up and applauded. Adam turned to look at him, and from his expression Kris guessed that this hadn't happened before. He was surprised, because of course it should have.

Nick was back to herd them off the stage with an "all right, you two, go make out in the corner now" that made Kris blush a little though Adam, predictably, just grinned. David and his band were ready to go on, and as they walked past them David said, "Hey, Adam, I really liked your song."

Adam turned. "Thanks, man," he said. "It's still kind of unfinished, so, you know, suggestions are welcome."

David nodded slowly. "Cool," he said. "Good to know. We're ah, we're playing a bunch of new songs tonight ourselves, so, yeah."

"Cool," Adam said.

Nick appeared on the stage again, as David's band set themselves up. "I'm so pleased to introduce an old friend who's finally returned after wandering the earth, and brought back with him this bunch of ragamuffins." He turned and looked at the band. "If I didn't know better I'd say it was a secret plot to make him look good." As the audience laughed Nick looked over at Simon. "Have you missed him as much as I have, Simon?" he asked

Simon shouted back, "Of course not!"

"I think we can give him a better welcome than that, can't we? David Cook!" Nick walked off as David walked on and the band started up. They were pretty high energy, and easily worked the crowd back up from Archie, Kris and Adam's mellow set.

Kris and Adam were still standing just off stage left, dancing to the music. Allie and Archie were near them again, Allie looking a little twitchy, probably about her song which would come near the end of David's set. Adam leaned over to her and shouted, "You're gonna be awesome, honey!"

She smiled and nodded, but didn't seem convinced, and Adam reached out the hand that wasn't wrapped around Kris to rub her shoulder.

As he did, Kris realized that for most of the night Adam had been positioning himself directly behind Kris. Of course he could see perfectly well over Kris's head, and he often had a hand on Kris's hip, even while they were dancing. It was oddly comfortable, just like living in Ryan's house with him had been, and Kris was trying his best not to read too much into _that_.

Kris looked out over the crowd and saw Matt and Anoop all wrapped up in each other, as though they needed to fit months of PDA into one evening. He had also been unsurprised when Adam told him how the two finally got together, but unlike Adam he didn't distrust Anoop's intentions. He could certainly understand not knowing what you wanted until you tripped over it, and even then holding it at arm's length for a while.

He felt Adam lean in to his ear. "Matt said Anoop's thinking about going back to school in the fall," he said.

Kris nodded, weirdly unsurprised that Adam had noticed him looking in their direction. Adam seemed to notice most things about Kris. "That should be good for him," Kris replied.

"I hope so," Adam said.

David's band had finished up their fourth song to much applause—Kris found them to be surprisingly tight for a band playing new songs they'd only rehearsed for a short time. David held up his hand. "Okay, one last song for us. Um, so as some of you know I've spent the past few months being a groupie on the tennis tour," David said, and the crowd laughed. "We were driving around outside of Sydney about a month ago and this song came on the car radio and cheesy as it is, Mike and I were singing along at the top of our lungs. I've changed it up a little, but Mike, this is for you." The crowd said, "aww!" and David leaned back into the mic and shouted, "shut the fuck up, I'm a rocker!" Then, in his growliest voice, David sang _love, I just died in your arms tonight_ and the whole place exploded in cheers and laughter, everyone jumping around and singing along.

[Shocking Blue | Send Me a Postcard](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Send_Me_A_Postcard/201357)

"Thanks," David said when he'd finished. "We're just going to be a backup band for a couple songs here. Nick said we had three new singers tonight, and here's the third one. Allison Iraheta!"

Kris and Adam hooted and hollered as she came up on stage and grabbed the mic. Archie was standing next to them, cheering her on, too. She winked at him and took a breath, then sang: _before loneliness will break my heart, send me a postcard darling_ and it was as though all those nerves had melted away. Kris was impressed with her ability to take command of the stage so easily, never mind the power of her voice, and not to congratulate himself but the song was totally right for her. He and Adam danced away at the side of the stage, and when he looked, Archie was just standing there, staring at her.

"Oh, young love," Adam whispered in Kris's ear, and Kris elbowed him in response, which just made Adam laugh.

Allie got plenty of cheers, and Simon looked particularly pleased, and when she hopped down from the stage she was as hyper and happy as she'd been freaked out beforehand.

"One last song before the end," David said, once the cheers for Allie had died down. "Kris?"

"Kris?" Adam asked. "You have another song?"

[R.E.M. | Crush with Eyeliner](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Crush_With_Eyeliner/7187338)

He grinned; maybe he was still able to surprise Adam. "Yep," he said, grabbing his electric guitar and heading back up on stage. He faced the crowd. "So, earlier we heard all about how Adam doesn't like U2," he said. "Well, he also apparently doesn't like REM." The crowd started hooting, and Kris shook his head. "I know, right? But this song, seriously, I can't imagine he won't like this one." Kris started playing with plenty of effects on his guitar, and after the band kicked in, Kris started singing, every line of "Crush with Eyeliner" just _sounding_ like Adam to him:

> _I'm imbibed, I'm infatuated  
> It's all too much passion, he's all that I can take  
> What position should I wear? Cop an attitude?  
> How can I convince him that I'm invented too, yeah_

Adam was just staring at him in such blank surprise that Kris couldn't really look at him as he sang. He hadn't thought, when he planned to sing the song, how it would be like a declaration to the whole crowd that he had a thing for Adam; he was just thinking about singing it for Adam. But now that he was doing it, he kind of didn't mind, didn't care who knew he was into Adam. It didn't seem like a crush he needed to hide, now that he actually knew Adam as more than just that cool guy who wears makeup and platform boots. He reckoned it was his version of Adam's standing behind him all night.

When it was finished, Adam's reaction was to come bounding up on the stage as soon as the song was over and hug Kris from behind, this big, bearish, wonderful hug, and Kris couldn't stop smiling. He spun his guitar around and hugged Adam properly. The rest of the musicians were coming back up on stage—they had a huge finale of Beatles songs planned—but Kris paid them no mind. He pulled Adam into a kiss—a bit much, sure, for a guy who wasn't generally into making out in front of God and everybody, to kiss Adam in the middle of the stage. But it had been a crazy damn week, and after all that had happened, he figured they'd earned it.

Adam pulled back, breathless. "Maybe we should just call this our first date," he said.

"Some date," Kris said, and kissed him again, letting the applause wash over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final song is the one I was listening to a lot when I first conceived of the story, and was originally going to be the song Kris "wrote." "Sylvia Plath" worked better, and this song was cut, but it's such a great one, and musically fits Kris even if lyrically it's a bit more bitter than I wanted this Kris to be about his divorce. So, bonus song from the Canadian band Blinker the Star, special treat for making it to the end.
> 
> [Blinker the Star | Pretty Pictures](http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/song/Pretty_Pictures/9085728)


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